


Scars That Never Heal

by Lady_Paper_Writerson



Series: Fragments of Bats [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Amnesiac Character, Angst, Bat Family, Batfamily Feels, But you'll see none of that "Ric" shit here, Dark, Emotional Trauma, Family Issues, Gen, Heartbreak, Mental Breakdown, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Other, Plot Twists, Regrets, Self-Esteem Issues, Threats of Violence, post RHatO #25
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-07 10:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17363987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Paper_Writerson/pseuds/Lady_Paper_Writerson
Summary: Post Red Hood and the Outlaws #25.After the brutal beating in the hands of Batman, Red Hood returns to Gotham for one last night.(read Notes first)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone. Let me explain a few things.
> 
> What happened in RHATO #25 between Batman and Jason left me speechless. Not only was it completely and utterly out of character for Bruce to beat up Jason, JASON of all people (who wasn't even fighting back, btw) like that, it was also completely uncalled for. It wasn't like he was trying to subdue him. As I said, Jason wasn't even fighting back, and he wasn't on a rant or a murder spree or anything.
> 
> Later, issue #27 came, and it felt like a complete insult, since everyone acted like that never happened, like that beating wasn't a HUGE deal. Anyone that even remotely knows the character of Jason Todd, knows pretty damn well that he would NEVER forgive Bruce about it or let it pass like that, giving hugs (like, seriously?) at the end of the issue, while Bruce never even apologized about being a perfect abusive jerk.
> 
> This story is an approach on how I would have liked things handled after such a huge thing.

Jason stood at the front door of the manor, feeling disappointingly empty inside. He really -like, _really-really_ \- wished he didn’t have to do that. But he knew he had to, and if he had one chance, that was it. Now that he knew Batman was on patrol.

He knew that, by getting back to Gotham, he was risking getting beaten to a pulp once more. But the thing was… he wasn’t intending to _ever_ get back in the city again, and since that was the case, well, there were some things in that house he didn’t want to leave behind. And a goodbye he owed to that one person that had always been there for him, even on his darkest times.

He turned his key to the lock and entered. Silence.

“Alfred?” he called while closing the door behind him. “You here?”

No answer. Maybe he was in the cave. He didn’t want to get down there, however. He’d better go and pick up the stuff he had come for while he was waiting for him to show up.

He climbed the stairs and headed to his room. It was tidy and clean, not a single grain of dust on the furniture. Alfred always kept their rooms like that. Even his own. Always hoping he’d come back home. Even after what had happened so recently. He found the fact both adorable and heartbreaking.

His heart was heaving, and he suddenly didn’t want to waste any more time in there. He headed to the pinewood chest on the footboard of the bed and opened it.

There were a thousand things in that room, and in that very chest in particular, that were hurtful to look at once again. Most of all because they were reminders of that distant, vague time of his late childhood, when he was still able to feel things such as happiness or joy. He tried to ignore all of those objects, and head directly for the very few ones he didn’t want to leave behind.

Nothing much, really. It was just that small, old riffle -the first gun he ever owned. He’d taken it from Two-Face in one of their encounters, unknowingly to Bruce of course. And that small blanket Talia had comfortingly wrapped him into after she got him out of the Pit. That beautiful photo of him and Roy and Kori in Wet’n’Wild Gold Coast in Australia -probably the most fun day he ever remembered himself having. The tickets from that Raging Harpies concert him and Roy actually bought, and eventually didn’t manage to go, since they were both battered, recovering from their last mission. And that bracelet Kori had given him.

It was Christmas, a few years ago. They had just formed the team, just started bonding with one another. Roy and him were narrating the story behind the holiday to Kori, trying to explain her the spirit of it, and why people exchanged gifts -he always wondered how it never occurred Dick, in their time together, to explain her himself. She was “thrilled by the beauty of the concept”. Then, on Christmas day, she presented them with those three bracelets, all from her home planet. Some of the few and most valuable things she had managed to bring with her. She kept one for herself, and gifted him and Roy with two of them.

He shoved them all to his bag and tried to ignore everything else. Anything related to that “family”. Anything related to Bruce.

He left the room as quickly as possible. The longer he stayed in there, the more harsh and difficult his thoughts became.

“Master Jason?!”

There he was, at the base of the stairs. He went towards him, forcing a smile on his face.

Alfred didn’t smile, and didn’t pretend -pretending, after all, was not a gentleman thing to do. He looked concerned, and sad. It was the first time Alfred saw him after what happened.

_Yeah, that’s right, Alf. This wasn’t done by the Joker or something. That’s pure Bruce right there. How’d you like it? Are you proud of him? No? Well, he certainly seemed proud of himself._

“I called, you weren’t around. I went upstairs to get some stuff”.

Alfred gently put his hands on each of his shoulders. “How have you been?” he asked tenderly.

“Great. Awesome. It _did_ take a month to start walking without grunting in pain, two months to be able to take care of myself with no help, but you know. Look at me now. Better than ever”.

This seemed to only make him sadder, and he wished he had hold his tongue and his bitterness. Alfred was not at all to blame. “It was alright, seriously”, he tried to make it up. “Roy was there”.

Great. Now _he_ got sadder. Thinking about Roy and the way he died caused the kind of pain that almost reached despair.

He was his friend. His best friend. His _only_ friend.

Now, he was gone. And he was alone, once more.

“I am so sorry, Jason”, Alfred said quietly, his grip tightening a bit.

He nodded and straightened his back. “How’s Dick?”

Alfred sighed and rubbed his forehead, briefly closing his eyes. “On his feet, thank God. He can look after himself, but… he doesn’t remember anything. Not a thing after his parents’ deaths. Not one of _us_ ”.

“Hey, he’ll come around. It’s Dick we’re talking about. The Boy Wonder. He can always make it right”.

Alfred took a deep breath. “Master Jason… regarding what happened last time… with Master Bruce…”

“No, no Alfred, just listen, alright? All due respect, I don’t want to talk about it. I am… very, very tired. I can’t keep living like this, constantly trying to both be myself **_and_** please a father that doesn’t _want_ me in the first place. It’s just so… hard. I just came to get those things and… well… for you. I don’t know when I’ll come back, if ever, so I can’t be sure if we’re about to see each other again…”

 “Master Jason--!”

 “Alfred, what I’m trying to say is…”

Why was it always so hard to tell people that you simply love them?

“Thank you. Thank you, for always being here for me. I don’t know where or how I’d be without you in my life”.

Alfred seemed moved beyond words, which almost made him smile. Like what, didn’t he know that already, how important he was to him, to all of them?

The older man crossed the distance between them and took him in his arms. “My good boy” he said, in a low, somewhat shaken voice.

Jason hugged him as well, feeling his eyes watering a little. Nice. Just what he needed right now. The last thing he wanted was start weeping like a baby.

He hurried to break away from it and turn his back at him, throwing his bag over his shoulder.

“Bye, Alfred. I’ll miss you” he muttered quietly.

He left his key on the small stand beside the door, feeling grateful he hadn't tried to hold him back.

But maybe somebody else would. Like the guy that he found standing on the doorstep, ready to ring the bell.

He was completely caught off guard.

“Dick!”

For a few seconds, the man looked at him like he saw him for the first time, eyebrows knitted. “Oh!” he said then, as a spark of recognition shined in his eyes. “You’re… Jason. Right?”

Somebody must have talked to him about all of them, maybe showed him pictures as well. He supposed that’s how he knew.

“Yeah… last time I checked”.

They both stood there in silence, for some awkward moments that felt like forever.

This was hard. No matter how their relationship had been at that point, it really wasn’t pleasant to see Dick like that, such an empty and lost look on his face. He might have been away, but he always asked and learned about the situation of his health. He couldn’t even imagine how insanely maddening it must have been to just wake up one day, and being informed by some people you don’t know that you have lived a life you can’t even remotely remember.

And just like he didn’t remember any of that, he clearly didn’t remember him either. So what should he tell him? Should he try at all?

“I’ll be leaving for Blüdhaven in a few hours” Dick broke the silence, “and I got here because _he_ said he wanted to talk to me before”.

“Yeah, good, good. Alfred’s inside. Oh, no, wait, you mean **_him_**. Yeah, _he_ is not in, he’s on patrol”.

“Oh…”

“Yeah”.

More awkwardness. _Damn you, Dick Grayson, damn you to hell. Couldn’t you appear a minute, just a minute later?_

“So… how are you feeling?” he choked up the words, eventually. “I’m glad you’re up, at least. How are you dealing with… you know… all of it?”

“I… well… it’s… you know… it… sucks”, he sighed.

“A-ha. I’m sure it does”.

He suddenly felt terrible. It wasn’t like he was well himself, but Dick… what Dick was dealing with was devastatingly horrible. And what could he possibly do to help him in a few hours? They both had to leave Gotham. Dick to go to Blüdhaven, and him to go to… God knew where. He didn’t have a single clue yet.

And he had one last place to visit before he made his big exit off the city.

“I… I have to go now”.

“Sure” Dick answered mechanically.

“I wish you get better real soon”.

“Yeah… thanks”.

He nodded and moved away, towards his bike, but once he was there, ready to take off…

“Jason, wait”.

He closed his eyes and sighed. Dick was approaching, hands awkwardly shoved in his pockets.

“What is it?”

He cleared his throat a bit. “See, my doctors say that receiving information and interacting with people from my past life might help. It might trigger something inside and bring up some memory. It could be helpful. I’ve talked to everyone -you know, I mean, all the Bats- so far… except you”.

“If the others didn’t trigger anything, Dick, I don’t think you’ll have more luck with me”, he said, voice wooden. “You were closer to them”.

“Maybe, but still… you never know. I would… I would appreciate it if we could talk a little… if you have some time to spare”.

He starred at him for a while. Well, it seemed that the puppy eyes thing wasn’t one of the things he had forgotten. He felt unnerved, and he was really tempted to instantly deny and leave, just leave as quick as possible, but… how could he say no? It was Dick, dammit. And he was asking for help.

“Fine”, he huffed and watched his smile brightening. “But not here. Let’s go somewhere else”.

“Sure”.

Jason’s eyes wandered around, looking for some kind of vehicle. “How did you get here, anyway?”

“I took a cab. I’m not allowed to drive just yet, for two more weeks”.

He held back a small laugh, and gave him his helmet. “Here. Put this on".

“You?”

He pictured it for a while; them, just now, getting into an accident. Dick getting hurt, again, maybe taking another hit in the head. If anything like that happened, Bruce would most definitely cross his precious line this time. Yep. He’d most definitely kill him.

“I’ll be alright”.

 _I’m the expendable one, Grayson. Not one of the golden sons,_ he thought bitterly.


	2. Chapter 2

And there they were now. Him and Dick, just sitting in a bar. Felt like the beginning of a bad joke.

It wasn’t like they’d never done that before, go out for some drinks. It used to happen sometimes, the two of them just hanging, some of the rare times Dick was in Gotham and he himself happened to be in a good mood.

But this time was different. _Everything_ was different. Dick most of all. The guy beside him wasn’t smiling like he used to. He wasn’t making jokes. He wasn’t talking so much and so very enthusiastically that half the people around would turn their heads and stare at them. Actually, right now, he wasn’t talking at all. He was just sitting there, quietly, eyes fixed on his drink, waiting patiently for _him_ to start the conversation. Even his appearance was different. The physical looks were there, sure -other than those hair that used to be rich and fabulous-, but everything else just wasn’t right. Dick had always been taking care of himself. He was always well-dressed when he went out, always in an outrageously casual and at the same time stylish way. Now he was in a pair of old, well worn jeans, a simple white t-shirt, a tattered jacket, a bleached-out grey jockey hat.

It felt… surreal, to say the least.

How could he help Dick with something like this, the situation he was dealing with? He couldn’t even help himself, and he was fully aware of both his situation, and his own past.

He straightened his back and decided to get this thing started. He just wanted to get this over with and then get away from all of them.

“So?” he asked. “What’d you wanna know?”

Dick awkwardly stirred on his seat. “How was _our_ relationship?”

An unhappy grin rose to his lips. “Well, if I have to be honest, I can’t say it was peachy”

“Why?”

He tried to detect something on his face, maybe a sign that he was mocking him, that he was playing it, that this wasn’t actually happening, but he found nothing but sincere and honest question. He realized that, maybe for the first time in his life, he felt free to tell Dick the exact and absolute truth on everything… on his own feelings. Because this Dick, well… he would just listen. He wouldn’t try to make up excuses.

“When Bruce took me in, I was twelve”, he started. “You were nineteen back then. You had left home about a year earlier, and Bruce had never managed to make his peace with that. Truth is, he missed you terribly. I guess I was meant to be… a distraction. Maybe he hoped I could replace you. Both as Robin, and as his son. Problem was, I couldn’t. You were too good, too good in everything, and that brought huge pressure on me, constantly trying to prove myself worthy. No matter how many things I managed, I could never fill in your shoes the way Bruce hoped I would. Never become as good as you. At the beginning I was admiring you, and as time went by, well… I ended up envying you”.

“Didn’t I… didn’t I ever try to get to know you?”

“A little. You came to see me sometimes. Once, I helped on a mission, when you were in the Titans. Then you came home one day, and we went out hiking. It was nice. You were very good to me. Teaching me things, protecting me… That one time, it was like I… like I had a big brother”.

Dick smiled for the first time that evening, his whole face momentarily lighting up, and Jason felt himself blushing. He nervously raised his beer to his lips. He already regretted his last words, even though they were honest.

“And?” Dick encouraged him to continue. “What happened?”

“You and Bruce didn’t get along. You had your own issues, couldn’t be around for me… And when Bruce found out about the hiking trip, he got angry. I’d never seen him so mad before until then -not with me, anyway. He didn’t want me hanging out with you. He was afraid that you might affected me, make me want to leave as well. I’m not sure what happened, but at some point, you stopped visiting. I thought maybe you guys had a fight about it or something, and maybe he forbade it”.

“What a jerk!” he exclaimed angrily, suddenly reminding him the old Dick once more.

“Yeah. What a jerk”

For a moment, it seemed like Dick was struggling with the words. “It doesn’t sound like I was the way I should be with you either”, he choked out eventually.

“You weren’t, and later on, you felt guilty about it. That’s why you’ve always been so close to Tim and Damian”.

They both finished their drinks and Jason waved for more. “Anyway, then… _that_ happened… I mean…”

“The Joker. Yes. They told me some things about… _that_ ”.

Jason nodded, looking down. He felt grateful he didn’t have to get to it in detail.

“When I came back, all I felt was… anger… hatred… and betrayal. I hated you, as I hated everyone. And if you had been an asshole, it would have been easy to me. But I remembered how kind you always were to me. I could see why everyone loved you so much, which somehow made everything worse. You were so talented, so gifted, and you had everyone’s love without even trying. I was envious, more than ever before. To you, everything came out natural. Me? I always had to try, put up insane, maximum effort for even a small praise. Because most of the times, at the end of the day, someone would be like… ‘Dick did that better’. At least that’s how I felt at the time. After a while, I didn’t want to have anything to do with you, or Bruce -or the others. I preferred to keep my distance. It was easier this way. I think you guys preferred it as well. Some of them tried to reach out to me. You were never one of them. You didn'd care enough. Which is understandable. All we've had was fights”.

Dick seemed massively disappointed at that. He opened his mouth to say something, but he caught him off. “It wasn’t your fault. I told you, you probably didn't know the way. And as for the rest, well... you were just being yourself. What would you do, stop being good, sabotage yourself so that I looked better? You’re just charismatic”.

“ _Was_ ”, Dick sighed, correcting him.

Jason didn’t comment on that, because Dick seemed bitter, and so certain about it. He disagreed. Maybe he didn’t remember a damn thing, but some details cannot be forgotten. He believed -no, he _knew_ \- his old self was somewhere in there.

“I’m very sorry you felt this way, Jason”.

“Yeah, well… what you gonna do about it”.

He took some more ships of his second beer, and then got up from his seat. “If you don’t need anything else…”

Dick got up as well. He looked a little frustrated, confused. “Where are you gonna go?”

“I’m not sure yet, but I have to get out of Gotham. A few months ago, Bruce exiled me. He doesn’t want me here. I just came to pick up some things I didn’t want to leave behind”.

“Exiled you?” Dick raised an eyebrow. “The fuck’s that supposed to mean? We’re in medieval times?”

It was such a spontaneous question, and Dick looked so angry about it that it almost brought a smile to his face. Almost.

“Jason, listen, I… I want to say thank you. Of all those people that came to me, and seem to know me so well… so far, you’re the only one that didn’t picture me like the total, perfect saint. What you said feels… honest”.

“I _am_ being honest, but so are the others. They didn’t lie to you. Your relationships with the rest of them vary from good to awesome. I’m an exception”.

This didn’t seem to make him feel any better. “If… if I need to find you, how can I do that?”

“Why would you need to find me?”

Dick took a deep breath, and he felt a rush of anger flowing down his veins, bringing up the urgent need to punch him. _Grayson, you fucking idiot. You had to lose your memories to start trusting me? Too late. Too late for that._

“You don’t need me, Dick” he said blankly. “If you ever feel alone or lost, you have literally a hundred people to turn to. Bruce loves you more than he loves anyone else in the world, and Alfred also loves you like a son. Tim and Damian adore you, you’re their brother. Tim’s very smart too, you can always turn to him for any practical problem you might have. Barbara Gordon is the person you’ve probably shared most of the aspects of your life with; she’s been your colleague, your mentor, your friend, your girl. She knows you better than most people. Then there’s Kori… Starfire. Her love for you is beyond words and worlds -her own words. She and I happened to also have some kind of relationship at some point… and I never meant to her half as much as you did. As you still do”.

That part about Kori… the words scratched his throat. It hurt him deeply to speak it. But as painful as it was, it was also the truth.

Not even Kori had managed to love him as much as she loved Dick.

“You’ve also had good relationships with Cassandra Cain and Batwoman. Each and every one of your friends from the Titans would stick their heads in the fires of hell for you. You _have_ help, if you want it”.

He turned his back and had already taken two steps when he heard his voice again. “I think you’re wrong about **_him_** ”.

He stopped and then glanced at him, surprised more than anything else. “Come again?”

Dick crossed his arms over his chest. “About him loving me more than he loves you. I think you’re wrong”.

Jason’s eyes fixed on the floor for a few seconds, and then went back to Dick’s. “And what’s your evidence on that, Grayson? You don’t remember shit”.

“I know. I know. But when people talked to me about you…”

“What he did” he raised his voice a bit, “you don’t do it to someone you love, no matter the circumstances”.

“What did he…?”

“Ask him when you see him. I don’t think he’d have a problem telling you. For all I know, he might actually be pleased”.

He turned to head to the exit, and then…

“Wait, Jaybird -!”

He briefly glanced at him. Dick looked as shaken as he was. As if the word had just popped out of his mind instinctively, and he didn’t even know what it meant up until then.

“Dude”, he said skeptically, “I’m telling you, if all this amnesia thing is just an act for some reason, I swear to God, I’ll mess you up so bad that…”

“No, I… I just… I don’t know how it came on… on my… head…”

He stopped talking and his eyes dropped on the floor, looking like he was struggling to breathe, skin turning as white as a sheet within a second. Then his face spasmed in distress, like he was in pain, such an agonizing pain, eyes squeezing shut as he let out a short, gasping, pained sound, hands raising to each side of his head.

“Dick!” he shouted, catching him before he fell and helping him back to his seat. “Dick! Are you alright?!”

He didn’t seem to hear him, or be aware of anything around them for a few terrible moments. He could do nothing but wait, hands clutching tightly on his shoulders. The relief he felt when his eyes raised again was beyond words.

“Sugah?” the barwoman came towards them, clearly having noticed that something was wrong. “Can I get you something? Another drink?”

“No, no drink, water” Jason said.

She nodded and filled in a glass.

“What the hell was that?” he demanded in a low voice once she was away.

Dick looked at him wearily, still trying to catch his breath. “It… it happens sometimes” he stammered. “Migraines… heavy ones. It’s normal… it’s because of the blow as well”.

“Jesus, man-!”

“It’s alright, I just… I need one more second”.

“Dick, does anyone else knows this _happens_?”

He nodded slowly, affirmatively. Jason leaned back again, huffing. Memory loss was one thing, yes, but _this_ shit was fucking _dangerous_. What if he got one of those while crossing a street, or while facing some criminal? Or at a time when he was alone, and he fell, hurting himself? Hell, what if it had happened earlier while they were riding his motorcycle?

He could tell now why he wasn’t allowed to drive just yet.

“Come on” he said once he saw he was somewhat better. “Let’s get you a cab, I can’t have you riding again like this”.

A few minutes later, they were standing in front of a waiting vehicle.

“I hope you get better soon” Jason said, feeling numb inside.

The look on Dick’s face was one he thought he’d never forget. There was something so sad, and lost, and empty in that look… and at the same time, a deep, persistent, stubborn struggle, to speak, to understand… to remember something more, maybe.

“Do you… absolutely have to go?”

“As soon as possible”.

“Jason, given what you’ve told me, I know I don’t have a right to ask you for more. I’m thankful you even accepted to talk to me. But if you could just…”

“Listen, it’s… unfair, so unfair… you didn’t deserve what happened, what’s happening to you now. But me… I… I cannot help you. I wish I could. I… I’m sorry. I’m very sorry”.

He turned again, and this time his voice calling him didn’t make him go back.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Dick got in the cab and let himself sink in the back seat as they started driving away.

“Where to, lad?”

“Wayne Manor”.

The driver glanced at him over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “Y’r kidding me?”

“Will you take me there, or do I get another cab?”

“Fine, chill. Whatever you say”.

They -thankfully- drove in silence. He closed his eyes and tried to calm down, focusing on his own breath, and on that tiny spark of hope; that memory.

Yes. The very first memory that had come to him within four months, ever since he opened his eyes on that hospital. He wanted to clench to it, never let it go. He kept repeating it on his mind, in fear that if he stopped, he might forgot about it, lose it again, fade into darkness once more.

He didn’t tell Jason. The migraine hit him instantly -one of the strongest he had experienced so far-, and after it had past… he wasn’t sure he wanted to. First, he didn’t have the time, and then he didn’t have the will. Considering what he’d heard from him… he wasn’t sure if he’d wanted to hear it after all.

That word… it was that word that triggered it. That word that popped out of nowhere, and yet came so natural to his lips, so normal, and within that moment, he knew, he just knew that this person was… _family._

Jaybird.

Jaybird…

_Jaybird…_

***

 

_“I could never do this, Dick!”_

_The child stood in front of him, on the top of the highest treehouse, about thirty meters of the ground, gazing nervously at the rope connecting the construction with another one, some yards away._

_They were currently located on the Glade of the Treehouses, their second stop during the hiking trip. There were about ten treehouses there, all of different sizes and on different heights. Bruce once said they were constructed by Gotham’s Scouts Team, when he himself had been on his teenage years._

_Dick always loved that place. He used to visit it with his parents ever since he could remember himself, during their own, long hiking trips… back then… while they were still there, with him. They used to practice on their acrobatic stunts when there were no other visitors around. They taught him so much in that place as well, other than the circus._

_He found himself often returning there in various occasions, when he wanted some moments of calmness and rest. And now of course, bringing this little guy with him._

_“Nonsense” he put a hand on his shoulder. “You can, and you know it. You’ve been practicing this for so long, you said so yourself. And you also said you actually managed it, many times!”_

_“Yeah, but… not from such a height!”_

_“Height is just an illusion, Jay”._

_“An illusion? And the ground I’m about to smash my head into is also illusionary? You don’t want that to happen, Dick! Bruce will be very mad at you!”_

_Dick laughed. “Bruce has been permanently angry with me for the past year. What else is new?”_

_Jason looked at the rope again, and then back at him. “But… it is **your** stunt!”_

_“So what? It’s not like I called dibs on it. It has proven very useful over the years, it’s going to be very helpful to you as well, I believe”._

_“But when I saw you on that video, you managed it so amazingly! I… I could never do this like you!” Jason said, cheeks blushing._

_Dick’s smile widened. He could just might be the cutest child in the world._

_“Don’t do it like me” he said, gently pushing back a strand of rich black hair that was falling over the boy’s forehead. “You don’t have to. Be yourself, Jason. You know the basic moves, and you know the result you’re aiming for. Everything else is up to you. Don’t think about style, that’s the least important part, and it only comes after years of practice. There is no right or wrong way, as long as you end up at the end of the line -or the opposite building- alive”._

_“That’s what Bruce says as well”._

_“Well… don’t tell him I said that, but he’s right”._

_Jason nodded, a very serious look on his face as he took a deep breath. “Do you really believe I can manage?”_

_“I don’t believe it. I know it”._

_“But what if I fall?” he asked, looking anxiously at him with his innocent, big, grey blue eyes._

_“Jay”, he smiled, his grip gently tightening on the child’s shoulder, “even if at some point you lose your pace, I will **never** let you fall. Ok?”_

_He nodded again, hesitantly._

_“We’ll do this together, on the count of three. Agreed?”_

_Another tiny nod, as they both positioned themselves on the tip of the floor._

_“Three… two… one… Go!”_

_He didn’t expect Jason would actually go for it on the first attempt… and yet, the little daredevil **really** just went for it, in all of his uncertainty and his doubt and fear. He did it anyway, and Dick couldn’t but admire his courage. He himself followed a second later, in order to watch over him. He was half-ready to catch him in case something went wrong, but nothing of short happened. They both simply landed across the way, first Jason, then himself._

_The twelve-year-old looked back at the treehouse they had just left, stunned, and Dick watched as the realization came on his face rapidly, filling him with ever-lasting joy._

_“Dick, I MADE IT!” he exclaimed happily, jumping on his arms. “I made it, I really did!”_

_“I told you so, didn’t I?” he laughed, hugging the child on his chest. “Excellent, awesome job, Jaybird!”_

_“How did you call me?” Jason laughed as he drew back._

_“What, you don’t like it, little-wing?” he joked, ruffling his hair. “I like it. I think it’s fitting”_

_“Dick, before we leave this place, can we please try it again?” he asked impatiently. “Just a few more times!”_

_“Sure, buddy! Whatever you want!”_

_“I’ll show Bruce when we get back home, he’ll be thrilled! Come on, Dick, let’s try it again! Come on, come on----”_

 

_***_

 

“… come on, lad! Lad, _come on_! I’m talking t’ya, we’re here! You’ve fallen asleep back there?”

Dick jumped up on his seat, drifting out of the memory, and looked out of his window, at the grim manor in front of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got inspired to write this flashback scene by this beatiful page in Grayson #12, in the upper part, where we see little Jay and Dick!
> 
> [Grayson #12, page 14](https://66.media.tumblr.com/6294a0262dae81c298aba9f81aa4fa68/tumblr_po251x3cMG1y7pfb9o1_1280.png)


	3. Chapter 3

“He’s _still_ not here? He said nine o’ clock, right?”

“Right indeed, Master Richard”.

“It’s now _ten_ ”.

“It is delightful to see that, despite all of the injuries and struggle, you still remain quite perceptive”.

“The last train for Blüdhaven is at midnight, so if he doesn’t appear soon, I’m about to buzz off”.

“Master Wayne often loses track of time, I’m afraid” he sighed. “However, I couldn’t help but notice that you yourself got here just ten minutes ago”.

“You’re very perceptive as well, Alfred. I went for a drink with Jason”.

The butler stopped dusting off the piano and slowly turned to look at him.

“Yeah. See, I got here in time. I ran into him outside, he told me he’s not home, and I wanted to, you know… see what _he_ had to say about me”.

“I see” Alfred said, clearly interested. “And… how did it go?”

“I… I’m not sure”.

Dick suddenly felt the irritation on his head getting momentarily stronger. _Not now. Please, not now._ He leaned forward on his seat and closed his eyes, lightly rubbing at his temples.

“Master Richard?” Alfred’s voice came, calm and anxious at the same time. “Are you feeling well?”

“Not really” he huffed. “I still have this headache from earlier… it’s… constant now, it hasn’t stopped at all ever since…”

“Ever since?”

“I had a migraine while we were out. A pretty strong one”.

Alfred quickly approached, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Have you been taking your pills, sir?”

“I have. All two thousand of them. Tell me, Alfred, what happened between Jason and Bruce?”

He kind of got him off guard with that question. He noticed that his posture, despite being as elegant as always, slightly changed following this. He saw the uneasiness and the hesitation in his eyes.

“I know it’s something quite bad, because… he didn’t tell me himself. He avoided the matter every time I asked, telling me to ask him himself… what was it, Alfred? What happened? Please, tell me the truth” he requested, politely, “and then I’ll tell you what _we_ talked about. Deal?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jason looked over his shoulder for a moment, scanning the place.

Not a single soul around. Luckily for them, and for himself as well.

He quickly picked up the lid off and slipped underground. It wasn’t a long walk until he reached the steel doors that hid the place that, for his last few months in Gotham, had been not only his hideout, but also his home.

It was a mess right now, of course. Of course. _Thanks for that too, Bruce._

He took a deep breath, almost feeling nostalgic. Damn. If he felt like this now, how would he feel later?

Once he plugged the USB on the computer, starting to download the files he needed, he gazed around the place. He’d better start collecting his stuff. He couldn’t know how much time he’d have.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“You can’t be serious. Please, tell me you’re _not_ being serious”.

Alfred sighed. “You wouldn’t remember that either, Master Richard, but I am not known to be - _hem_ \- joking. Especially when it comes to one of you”.

Dick didn’t know if his disappointment was visible at all. It could have been completely hidden behind his anger and shock.

Now everything made sense, all of a sudden. Why Jason was so reserved when they talked. Why he seemed so uncertain and resigned. Why was he the only member of this parody of a family that never visited him while on the hospital, and never tried to contact him later on. Why **_he_** never spoke about him, having other people inform him about who this last person in those pictures he was shown was.

“I see” he said stiffly, gritting his teeth. “So. ‘ _Dad’_ is an asshole”.

Alfred closed his eyes momentarily. “What you need to understand about the relationship between them, is…”

“Alfred. Dick”

His look shot up to the door. The fact that he had never heard him coming was simply a further indication that everything he had been told as “truth” ever since he woke up was indeed the case.

The headache only made every ugly emotion worse. And so, as he gazed at him, standing there, he caught himself getting increasingly angrier by the second, even though he didn’t seem to be at his best either. He thought he looked thinner than the last time he saw him, with faint, dark circles forming under his eyes. Tired.

Well, he couldn’t say he felt sorry for him at that particular moment.

“How could you do that, man?” he shouted at him, before he was able to restrain himself.

Bruce froze and stopped walking looking surprised more than anything at this outburst. He clearly hadn’t been expecting this kind of greeting to be the first thing he’d receive upon entering the room.

“Master Richard, please” Alfred’s soft voice came into his ears, accompanied by a light squeeze on his shoulder. “You need to calm down, tension is a factor probable to trigger another migraine…”

Bruce glanced at Alfred, and then, within a second, found his self-control once more. “How could I do _what_ , Dick?” he calmly asked.

His tranquility only seemed to outrage him even more. “I met Jason tonight”.

Bruce’s face spasmed. “You… No. No, it can’t be. Jason isn’t in Gotham”.

“He is here, Master Bruce” Alfred declared. “He came by a few hours ago”.

“Yeah, but don’t worry, he’s leaving again tonight. You exiled him, he says” Dick scoffed. “Dude, who the fuck do you think you are to have the right to act like that? Does the whole city somehow _belong_ to you? Last time I checked you’re not the law around here -you’re the vigilante. _‘Exile!’_ Fuck off!”

He couldn’t stop thinking about Jason. The images alternated in his mind. One moment he saw the young man seated beside him, having a beer in a bar, and the next one he had those flashes of this little boy in that memory of his. And he couldn’t accept it, couldn’t accept that, that adorable little boy, that quiet young man, who had suffered and survived through all of those horrors, had been treated like that by the man who used to call himself their father.

“I don’t know what he might have told you, but things are more complicated than that” Bruce stated blankly, trying not to give away any emotion.

It was crazy, wasn’t it? To feel _this_ angry about it, to feel so defensive about a person he had just met that very evening. And yet, he couldn’t help it. It came from inside of him. He couldn’t stand the unfairness and the outrageousness of it.

“Well, sorry to break it to you, but actually, he didn’t tell me anything about _that_ incident. Alfred did”.

Bruce’s eyes turned on his butler, who unapologetically returned the look. “It was better now than later, Master Bruce. You know this”.

“You mentioned _‘another’_ migraine, Alfred?”

On first account, the statement was out of the blue, but Bruce just straightened his back and went on, eyes now at him: “You had a migraine? What caused it, if I might ask?”

He was left speechless at this, his jaw dropping. “Are you serious right now?” he shouted. “You’re seriously ready to blame this on _him_?”

“I am simply asking –”

“You know what? I think we’re done”.

As he so abruptly rose from his seat, he literally blacked out for a moment, the volume of the headache suddenly increasing drastically. Luckily, he was able to act as if nothing had happened as he left the room with a few big strides and headed for the front door.

“Dick, stop!” Bruce’s voice came behind him, steady and commanding. “Come back here and listen to…”

“You want me to listen to you? Why? Why would I do that, when all you’re ever telling me is the fun stuff, keeping me obliviated from things like _this_?”

“You shouldn’t hear such things right now, since they’re only stressful! Your doctors…”

He stopped and span around to look at him. “I don’t even _know_ you, dammit, and somehow I’m supposed to trust you, to believe _anything_ you say, even after I hear about **_this_**? You’re supposed to be protecting me - _us_? Is this how you protect your sons from the bad guys?”

Bruce was standing a few feet behind him, near the staircase, quite aggravated himself now. He looked like he was struggling very hard to be patient, not to hit the roof, but he didn’t care, he didn’t care at all. He was so angry, he was furious, and the pain, God, the pain was fizzling on his head, screaming like a siren. And then, as he glared at the man that everyone said that was supposed to be his partner, his mentor, his father, another picture started forming in his mind, so simple, and clear, and bright, as if it had never left him, so familiar…

 

***

 

_They were just getting back from the trip, and Jason was rambling, still so very excited. He was mostly listening and agreeing, feeling quite enthusiastic himself, because that day had been a **beautiful** one. The kid might have been reserved and suspicious at first with the new people he met, but once you got to spend a little time with him, he became an adorable child, with a sweet, innocent heart, and a fun wit as well. He felt they were on a great way with Jason, that they were really getting closer._

_Yes, this could go well after all._

_He was thinking that next Sunday, if the world hadn’t collapse by then and they were free of missions, maybe he could take him to Central City, introduce him to Wally. Jason would certainly be thrilled to meet him. He had a feeling those two would really get along, and the kid needed to be around more people closer to his age, especially when they were also crime fighters, people with similar experiences._

_Once they got inside, he instantly realized that the fun was over for good._

_Bruce had been expecting them. He’d been sitting on one of the first steps of the staircase, eyes on the door, well-shaved and neat as always in his black shirt with the high collar. The look on his face was unreadable, and he knew him well enough to assume that this wasn’t going to be good. Jason caught that as well._

_“Bruce, hi!” Jason started with a smile, hopeful that this wasn’t as bad as it looked. “You won’t believe where we went! Dick knows this path through the woods and the National Park, and there’s a bunch of awesome places, and I finally managed a stunt that…”_

_“In your nights off, you’re supposed to be resting or studying, Jason”._

_Jason’s voice died on his throat, and he decided to interfere._

_“Jeez. Hello yourself, Bruce” he winced. “You were in that gala all day. What was he supposed to do, study until he’d fallen asleep, or ‘rest’ by playing on his own in the yard?”_

_“Truth be told, both of those things sound incredibly boring for a typical Sunday” Alfred declared, approaching from the direction of the kitchen. “Young Masters. How was your little trip?”_

_“It was the most fun thing ever!” Jason smiled at him. “Alf, did you know about those treehouses?”_

_“Dick. A word”, Bruce requested as he turned, heading to the living room._

_Silence followed his departure, and Jason turned to him, anxiously biting his bottom lip. “Uh-oh…” he quietly exclaimed._

_He forced himself to smile down at him, despite the hand that was gripping his stomach. “Hey, don’t worry about it, Jaybird. He’s just jealous because he spent his day with all those bland rich people while we had the fun of our lives. Go on, go grab something to eat, you said you’re hungry”. He actually felt hungry himself. They ate the last cucumber sandwiches Alfred had packed for them hours ago._

_“I think I can help with that”, Alfred smiled._

_Jason then hugged him, actually hugged him. “When are you coming back?”_

_“As soon as I’m free again” he ruffled his hair. “Take care of these two old men until then, kiddo”._

_“How kind of you, Master Dick” Alfred huffed, sarcastically._

_“Don’t worry. I will” Jason laughed._

_His fake smile drifted off as he also headed for the living room, only to return, faintly though, a few seconds later, as he heard Jason voice from afar: “Alfred, Dick is **the best**!”_

_He was standing in front of a window, with his back to the door when he came in. He knew he was already aware of his presence, and he took a deep breath before he started._

_“Bruce” he said quietly. “We just went on a hiking trip. That’s it. He didn’t even want to spend the night camping, because he wanted to get home in case you needed him. Please, **please** don’t start scolding him. He had a really good time”._

_“Is that so”._

_“Yes, that **is** so!”_

_Bruce turned, eyes icy cold. “And what about you?”_

_“Well, yeah, I had a great time as well. He’s such a good kid”._

_“I know that he is. I know that better than you. Whom did you take permission from?”_

_“Um… excuse me?”_

_“Permission, Dick. To take an underage kid anywhere, you need permission from their legal guardian”._

_He was stunned for a while, unable to believe that he had actually said something like that._

_“Are you serious right now?” he angrily raised the volume of his voice. “You’re going to make me, what, apologize for it? I just… I wanted to get to know him a little bit!”_

_“I don’t want you close to Jason”._

_The words hit him like a lash in the face, and he just stared at him, shocked at this hurtful statement. “Why?” was the only thing he managed to stammer._

_“I can’t know what exactly you’re planning to tell him about your leaving”._

_“I didn’t tell him or intended to tell him anything about it! You can’t possibly believe… you can’t be thinking I would ever try to turn him against you or anything… Bruce, why would I… I would never--!”_

_His expression didn’t change at all, as he simply crossed arms over his chest, and Dick was suddenly overcome by a rush of anger and bitterness he’d rarely felt in the past. Fine, maybe they didn’t get along for the past year, but even so, how could he speak like that, how could he think that low of him? Didn’t he know him at all? It was so, so unfair, and now he wanted to **hurt** him back._

_“You are such an asshole, Bruce”, he muttered through gritted teeth, “and you don’t deserve any of us. I should have left **earlier** ”._

_“And maybe you shouldn’t have come back at all!” Bruce shouts._

 

***

 

He snaps out of it, and sees the _real_ Bruce across the hall. He’s talking, angrily, but he can’t figure out what he says. He just hears noises.

He feels dizzy and nauseated. He sees more shadows than he should. Pins and needles sensations in his right arm and his legs. He wants to tell Bruce to knock it off, he can’t really hear him after all, he doesn’t feel well, but there is inexplicable difficulty when he tries to summon the words. His face feels numb, and he realizes those things are all a prologue to what’s inevitably coming.

_No. No, please. No, not again…_

Too late.

An explosion of blinding pain on the inside of his skull, like a thunderclap, viciously hitting both sides of his head. It’s too much, and he can’t take it, he can’t. His feet can’t hold him. He’s kneeling, and probably screaming, though he can’t be sure of that. It’s throbbing and pulsing, agonizing, a torture. It’s worse, far worse than the previous one. All he sees when his eyes are open is strange, insanely rapidly flashing lights, colors, lines, shapes, more shadows, all tangled together in a frantic dance. He squeezes them shut.

Somewhere, too far away, he hears a voice frantically calling his name, and he feels strong arms catching him, before he’s reduced to darkness.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

He thought this scare might have costed him a year of life.

Dick was currently on his bed, in his old room, still unconscious. His doctor had just left ten minutes ago. Sever migraine crisis, he said. Causes currently unknown. They expected he would remain at this state for several hours. He raised a hand, stroking his forehead, making sure there was no fever, and then got up from the armchair beside the bed and pulled the covers a little on him. He looked so pale. Exhausted. He had only seen him like that after the worst of missions.

He looked past the bed and across the room, out of the window. It was windy outside. Far away, trees were being violently jerked through it.

No signal in the sky.

He exited the room, cautiously closing the door behind him, only to see Alfred approaching.

“He’s still asleep” he informed him. “Will you please stay beside him, Alfred?”

“Do you really need to ask, sir?”

He nodded, eyebrows knitted. “If anything comes up, call me immediately”.

“Might I ask where are you heading to?”

“You know damn well where I’m heading to” he answered abruptly. “If Jason is still in the city, there are two possible places he would go to. Ma Gunn’s place, or, most probably, his last hideout”.

The butler seemed alerted by that. “Master Bruce” he said agitated, with a slightly irritated tone, “you don’t… you don’t actually blame this on Jason, do you?”

“Tell me, Alfred, ever since Dick woke up in the hospital, how many times did he have _two_ migraines in less than two hours? Don’t bother, the answer is zero. He didn’t even have an actual crisis of such severity at all, just some very strong headaches!”

“I am very well aware of the status, as you know”.

“Good. So. Are we going to pretend that it is merely a coincidence that is happened, not once, but _twice_ after their meeting?”

“It can’t be a coincidence, we agree on that part. But I am one hundred percent positive that Master Jason would never do or say anything to purposely upset Richard in any way when he knows he is currently on such a state!”

“How about un-purposely?”

Alfred rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “Sir. You are being absurd, and I think that deep down you know it. Please, don’t do something you will later regret”.

Maybe. Maybe he was right. Maybe -just maybe- this wasn’t the only reason he wanted to find him.

He snorted, gritting his teeth. “I just want to know what exactly he told him”.

Alfred sighed, resigning. “I am not sure he is ready to talk to you yet, Master Bruce”.

“He probably isn’t”.

He turned his back and walked away, as Alfred’s soft voice followed him. “I am not sure _you_ are ready for this either”.

He breathed heavily, but did not turn around.

“I am most definitely _not_ ”.


	4. Chapter 4

Not many things were missing, and thankfully, none of those he meant to retrieve.  ** _He_**  didn’t have any reason to take them. Jason just needed some of his spare masks and holsters. Bizarro’s glass jar. Artemis’ Amazonian knife -she’d kill him if he’d let Batman get his hands on it. His picture with the two of them. And of course, Pup Pup.

God, he missed them. How he missed them. Bizarro, and Artemis, and Kori… and most of all, Roy. Probably because he was the only one so far away… the only one that would -most probably- never come back. He was his friend. A true, deeply devoted friend. Despite all of the problems he had of his own -and they were never few-, despite everything… he was there for him. Always, always there for him, always by his side, in his brightest and darkest moments. Always there to celebrate with him for the good, always there to comfort and help him during the bad. Always. In any time of need.

Roy was family. Artemis, and Bizarro, and Kori, were family. A  ** _real_**  family. Not like the others.

It hurt a thousand times more than any punch Batman threw at him: the fact than none of them was there. Sure, they couldn’t be on that rooftop. They couldn’t have known  ** _this_**  would happen. But then, afterwards? Still not a word from any of them. Not a single try to find him, contact him, see how he was. Not a single sign they even remotely cared. And he’d expect it from Cain and Batwoman and Batgirl. He was never really close to any of them, and especially Barbara had always been a sucker for anything Bruce did. But the others… his supposed brothers… nothing from them either. No Tim, no Damian… not even Dick, before he took the bullet. Which meant, despite how much it hurt thinking about it, that they were probably even  _praising_  it.

His only true brother was Roy. Maybe Bizarro too -a little brother, in that case. The others were no more. They were dead to him. Or at least that’s what he thought until he saw Dick that evening, the situation he was currently into.

He didn’t expect he’d be so shaken. Maybe it was a combination of everything that had happened up until that point. Maybe the fact that Dick didn’t even remember who he was had further triggered the reminder that they were all simply… gone. The family had casted him out. Roy was no more. Bizarro and Artemis had disappeared. Kori had her own problems going on, her own matters to resolve.

And there was he. Once again, alone. Like he was always supposed to be.

The screen behind him informed him that the downloading process was finally done. He took the USB off and shoved it to his pocket. As he did that, his eyes travelled upon the bookshelf, and on the picture on the frame that still sat there, now all-dusted after months of the place being closed and locked.

He approached slowly, crossing his arms over his chest, gazing at his fifteen-year-old self smiling back at him, at Bruce smirking. Their voices echoed in his head.

_“So, how are we doing this—spontaneous?”_

_“Serious”._

_“Sexy?”_

_“Serious”._

_“Really, sirs… ‘cheese’ will do”._

Unbelievable as it was, there was a time Bruce smiled so much more. A time that  _he_  could make him smile.

There was a time that he…

“Jason”.

He frowned for a few seconds, his spine turned into ice. Then he instantly span around.

***

 

 

_"Jason”._

_Bruce’s eyes remained fixed on the screen as he spoke the boy’s name. The kid had just cleared his throat in a small, discreet gesture, to let him know he had entered and was now standing behind him. Not that he hadn’t figured on his own, of course._

_He approached hesitantly, obviously feeling uneasy, and stood beside his chair, leaning on the computer platform, one hand clasping his other arm._

_“Are you still angry?” he asked timidly, a tone he wasn’t used to hear in Jason’s voice._

_He gazed at that anxious look on his face, and suddenly all the rage melted away. He left the screen and turned his chair to face him._

_“No, buddy” he huffed, gently running a hand through the boy’s hair. “I am not angry. Not with you, anyway”._

_“It wasn’t Dick’s fault” he hurried to announce. “It’s me, I asked him to… uh, you know, go for a walk or something…”_

_“Jay”, he crossed his arms over his chest, “what have we agreed upon about lying?”_

_The child’s cheeks blushed as he winced a little. “Alright… it was his idea, but… I really wanted to go, Bruce. It sounded nice, and it **was**  nice!”_

_“I get it. I do. But you must understand that you can’t leave home like this, without me knowing about it”._

_“We told Alfred we’d go, and… I thought it was enough”._

_He wouldn’t lie to himself; yes, letting Alfred know was actually enough. Alfred would inform him as always, just as he had done this time as well. His own bitterness was the only problem here. And this bitterness wasn’t even towards his little one. It was Dick he was angry to._

_“Bruce, I’m sorry”, he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to upset you, I swear it… If I knew that you’d mind it so much…”_

_“Case is closed, Jason. Just make sure it won’t happen again”._

_The child didn’t seem completely relieved. His voice when he spoke again was almost a whisper. “If… if you want me to leave, I’ll understand”._

_“Well, you do need to go to sleep, you have school tomorrow”, he said, watching some new data getting downloaded on the computer._

_Jason parted his lips, as if he meant to say something, but then closed them again. Suddenly, an unnerving thought flashed through his mind._

_“Wait” he turned to look at him again, words coming out slow. “You were not talking about this”._

_“Forget about it… it’s fine”, he murmured as he turned to leave._

_“No. No, it’s not. Come here, look at me” he said, softly pulling him back towards him by his wrist. “What did you mean by that?”_

_Jason stood in front of him, lowering his gaze. “Nothing, it’s stupid. It’s just Andy Rave, that asshole in my class…”_

_“Language, champ. What about this person?”_

_He casually raised his shoulders. “He… said something”._

_“ **What**?”_

_He drew one breath, closing his eyes momentarily. “That this is what you do; getting a new child now and then, keeping them close until you get bored of them, or they displease you for some reason… then sending them back where they came from, like you did with Dick”._

_After a moment of shock, he felt a blast of anger exploding in his head. Andy Rave must have been the son of Roland Rave. He knew his family pretty damn well. Dick had also happened to be classmates with his eldest daughter, Katherina, while in high school, and had also received quite a few snarky comments about how he was an orphan and “not of their class”, despite Bruce Wayne being his legal guardian. In both cases, those were quite the statements, coming from the children of a man who had been four times divorced and constantly on “business trips” (might as well call them “permanent vacations”), only coming to visit his children for a few hours every two or three months._

_On the other hand, though, this could have been the very reason why those children had evolved like that. With such a father, how could anyone wonder?_

_Oddly enough, this attitude and those comments had never been able to hurt Dick’s feelings. He had been under his wing for many years up until he faced them, and always knew who he was, and what he meant to him. Pointing out his descent could never possibly offend him. He was always so proud of his parents, one of the many facts that also filled **him**  with pride for his eldest boy. Dick faced those attitudes with his usual smile and wit, reaching as far as using some charm as well. He later told him that Katherina Rave didn’t seem to mind where he came from at all when they first made out in the chemistry lab, where they were supposed to tide up and clean the mess that they -well, she, actually- made during an argument they had._

_But Jason wasn’t Dick. He -understandably enough- didn’t have his predecessor’s natural charm and wit and joyful spirit. His gifts were different, and not helpful in such a case. He was also younger than Dick when he came to face those things. In his twelve years, he had been through situations that many adults wouldn’t even dare to think of. For the few past months he had been teaching him how to fight, but the truth was, this little boy had been a fighter long before they’d ever met. And yet, Jason was much more sensitive and emotional than Dick, despite his determination not to show it -because, how could you live in the streets if you showed such weaknesses?_

_“Do you really believe that about me, Jason?” he asked quietly._

_“No!” was the instantaneous answer. “No way! It’s just…”_

_He watched him struggling with words, but it wasn’t necessary for him to explain. He knew exactly what was the case there._

_Jason never had what Dick used to have growing up: a warm, loving, caring family. This -Alfred, himself- was probably the closest thing he ever had to that. He was simply afraid that he might lost it. It was… an understandable fear. But to think that, even during those four months Jason was there -ever since January- he himself hadn’t done enough to make him feel certain and safe on that part, felt surprisingly heartbreaking._

_“Dick left because he wanted to. It was his choice, not mine. We have talked about this, haven’t we?”_

_The boy nodded, a hesitant, uncertain spark still fixed on his gaze. Bruce raised a hand to side of his face, affectionately stroking him._

_“Jay… this is your home now, and no one is ever going to kick you out, especially not me. And whenever a thought like that torments you, or for whatever other problem you might have, I want you to come and talk to me about it. You’re **not**  alone anymore. You’ll  **never**  be alone again. I’m here now. No matter what happens, you’ll always have  **me** ”._

_Jason gave him a smile. A faint one, but still a smile, as he nodded. He leaned back, noting that he had to press his lawyers to work faster. He wanted to make it official, give the child the certainty he needed._

_“Now” he straightened his back. “About that kid in school…”_

_“Oh, I dealt with it” he waved his hand._

_“You did?” he raised an eyebrow. “How?”_

_“I punched him in the face”._

_“ **Jason** -!”_

_“Don’t worry, I won’t be in trouble!” he hurried to assure him. “This happened last week, and he didn’t tell headmaster or anything, so it’s cool”._

_There were so many things wrong with that, and he simply didn’t have the strength to talk this through at that very moment. He was extremely tired. He hadn’t slept for twenty-nine hours straight -again. He should probably get some rest for three or four hours before he went out that night._

_“Listen, young man, it’s late now, but don’t you think you’re getting out of this that easy. We’ll talk about it tomorrow”._

_Jason smirked sneakily, raising his shoulders, and he found himself smiling as well. It was funny how Jason managed to get this reaction from him so much more than Dick ever did, despite not even trying._

_A thought crossed his mind, a hopefully good way to lighten things up a little._

_“I believe… you mentioned something about a stunt, earlier?”_

_Jason’s whole face brightened up like a sun. “Bruce, you won’t **believe**  this, I’ve done it so well, and from such a height! Dick said I’m getting a pro at this! You want to see? But I need to be some place higher! Wait, I’ll climb up the dinosaur…”_

_“Oh, no, you definitely won’t…”_

***

 

 

There is a unique kind of trauma your confidence and faith in people take when a person that is supposed to love you and care for you suddenly raise their hand and strike you down. Again. And again. And again.

Even standing at his presence was… hurtful, to say the least. And, currently, alerting as well. Either Alfred or Dick had probably informed him that he was back, or he had the place bugged. In any case, Jason cursed himself for not being faster.

“I didn’t do anything. Just picking up some stuff. And I had to say goodbye to Alfred” he said, trying to sound emotionless. “I was just now leaving. For good”.

Batman simply stared at him from afar.

He sounded defensive, and he knew it, but he didn’t care. Whatever works so that he got out of there and away from him as quickly as possible. The last thing he sought was a fight. All he wanted was to escape from the thoughts gathering up on a pile in his head. To lie down on a bed, in the darkness, burry himself under the covers, and sink into a long, dreamless sleep.

He’d never been much of a sleeper in his life. He could never bring himself to just calm down and relax. His father’s voice, screaming threats all around during those huge fights with his mom, wouldn’t let him. He spent most of his nights worrying that he would snap and fatally harm one of them. After he was gone, the worries changed. He was afraid that his mother would choke in her own vomit and die in her sleep. Which, ironically enough, was more or less what had eventually happened.

When Bruce came along, he thought for a while that this was over. That he would finally be able to enjoy a peaceful, full-night’s sleep, the days he was not on patrol. But once more, every night he wasn’t with him on Gotham’s rooftops, he found himself rolling around in the sheets, almost suffocating by that insufferable lump nesting on his chest, and that agonizing question in his mind:  _Where is Bruce? Why isn’t he home yet? Is he alright? What if something bad happens to him tonight? Who’s gonna help him? What if… what if he doesn’t come back at all?_

He couldn’t close his eyes for good until Bruce returned home, alive and well. Until he heard his light footsteps on the corridor, as he headed to his own room, often stopping and quietly opening his door a little, to check on him before he went to rest.

“I don’t want to fight now” Jason muttered through gritted teeth.

He hated that he sounded so childish, but, at that very moment, he felt far too numb and weary to come up with something smart.

“I’m not here for that”.

“Then why?”

He stepped closer, gradually decreasing the distance between them, until they stood face to face. Jason remained put, as still as a cat, not lowering his gaze for a single moment, prepared to rebuff an attack any minute then. “I know you were with Dick earlier”.

“Guilty as charged”.

“What did you talk about?”

“Can’t he tell you himself?”

“He is currently unconscious, so no, he really can’t”.

He lost his nerve there for a second, and his soul cringed as he remembered Dick in that bar, the way he had gone white as a ghost and shivering within moments, not being able to stand on his own. “What happened?”

“Dick suffers migraines, due to…”

“I know. He told me. He had one while we were out”.

“And another one later at home. A  _very_  serious one. Two incidents of such severity within a few hours is extremely alarming”.

“Well, how about you get him to a fucking hospital instead of constantly playing it doctor yourself?”

“Or how about I find out what caused those incidents in the first place”.

It took him some moments to apprehend the realization of what exactly was the point his former mentor had just made. “Oh—Oh my” he raised an eyebrow. “What do you think my evil plan is, Bruce? To get my revenge against you by fucking up your favourite son’s head for good?”

He didn’t even flinch. “What did you tell him, Jason?” he repeated the question, dangerously slow this time.

“Well, let me see… yeah, I talked to him extensively about all the beatings he received over the past few years -that I know of-, about how Luthor suffocated him and made his heart stop, about how badly things ended with him and Starfire…”

He looked all cool and steady, but Jason knew him well enough to be certain that he was boiling now, struggling to maintain his equanimity. “Get… serious”.

“I can’t be serious, because the point you’re trying to make isn’t serious either!” he growled.

“I’m not going to ask again”.

“Oh. Off to the punches already?”

Bruce glared at him. His sarcasm, apparently, wasn’t going to get him anywhere in that case -not that it ever did, after all. Jason drew in a deep breath and tried to think of Dick.

“He wanted to know how our relationship had been over the years. Don’t worry, I didn’t extensively get to how shitty it was most of the time. Just let him know the basics. I told him we didn’t get along. Figured I shouldn’t lie. He didn’t seem to like what he heard, but I’m pretty sure nothing disturbed or upset him either. I can’t think of anything I said that could have had such an effect on him”.

Bruce hummed, and Jason rolled his eyes. Communicative as always. “Try to remember. When the migraine hit, what was his state? It doesn’t happen out of the blue. Something must have triggered frustration of some kind, anger, shock”.

“I told you, there was nothing that…”

He stopped talking, as the thought flashed through his mind.

“What?” Bruce encouraged.

“He called me Jaybird… like he used to when I was little. Just… you know, spontaneously. He said it simply popped through his mind. He looked… surprised… shocked. And then a few seconds later, the pain hit him”.

“He remembered it?” Bruce gasped. “On his own?”

“Yes” he nodded. “I suppose… it’s… not a regular thing to happen, then?”

“This is the first time any glimpse of his past life comes to him”.

He felt blood rising to his cheeks, unable to perceive the exact reason why. “Ok. That’s… good, then. It’s a good sign, isn’t it?” he asked, awkwardly pushing his hands in his pockets.

He still didn’t answer.  _He’s thinking. Wondering._  Probably about the same thing as he did; how? Why? Why now? Why with him, of all people? Neither of them could pretend that this wasn’t important, yet strange, at the same time.

However, despite all of this, Jason didn’t intend to linger on this situation anymore. “If we’re done here…” he enunciated while picking up his bag.

“Where are you going?” he demanded sharply as Jason was crossing the small distance between them.

“Away” he answered dryly. “You ordered this. Remember?”

Bruce reached out a hand towards his arm as he was walking past him. He tracked the movement with the corner of his eye. He later caught himself thinking he might have mistaken it as aggressive. At that very moment, though, instinct kicked off. He jerked away, disoriented, before he could even start to hide the reaction. Hated himself, because now he must have known that he was scared. He tried to steady his breathing.

Even if Bruce comprehended that, however, he didn’t let it show. He simply withdrew his hand, slowly. “I want to know where I can find you”.

“Why? In case all of your other punching bags are locked away and you can’t have your fun with them?”

The wince on his face would be barely conceivable to someone irrelevant, but Jason knew this man only too well, so he was able to detect it before it was gone. Bruce casted one of those heavy looks upon him for several seconds. He didn’t break eye contact, as much as he wanted to. “I understand your anger”, was the phrase that came next.

Jason felt himself leaping towards the edge, reaching a point where he could no longer pretend, his rage just flowing.

“You ‘ _understand’_?” he screamed at him. “ ** _Screw you_** , Bruce! Screw you, you arrogant, hypocritic prick!”

He watched as his shoulders stiffened. He clearly didn’t expect him to snap like that. And since he had started, it was an one-way road.

“What happened that night…”

“What happened that night”, he cut him off, still shouting, “was something you would  ** _never_** , under any circumstances, do to one of the others. Is that true, or no? Damian shoots Black Mask? Let’s just talk to him, and then maybe send him on vacation for a while, just to clear his head! Batwoman shoots Clayface? Oh, lord, that’s a bit serious. How ‘bout we call a family meeting and  ** _CALMLY_**  talk this through! But when Jason shoots the fucking jerk that’s responsible for his father’s death…”

“What… your father…?” Bruce sounded confused. “How…? I didn’t know…”

“Because you never asked! Your first word was literally a punch in my face, Bruce!”

“Listen to me…”

“But sure! You don’t bother to ask what happened, because in your megalomaniac mind, your huge ego just gives you the perfect, absolute certainty that you  _always_  know, that you’re always justified! And it doesn’t matter, it  _never_  matters what the others do, how badly they disrespect your priceless codes, because they are all  _special_. But Jason? Well, he’s proved he can take a beating, so sure, let’s take out on him every fucking tension we’ve been keeping inside for a while. Is that right?”

“Enough—"

“Next time, how about you go to Arkham first, get that  _fucking_  clown with you, so that you guys can work on me  _together_! I bet you he’d be thrilled to—"

“ ** _ENOUGH!”_**

His rant had, apparently, reached to an end. He hated that Bruce’s raised voice had that effect on him, but nevertheless, he didn’t have anything else to say. He felt numb for the next few moments, his mind all-blurry, as Bruce approached him and put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing tight.

“Stop it, don’t… don’t you even dare, don’t pretend like… like you care—”

Next thing he knew, he gently pulled his stiff and reluctant form close, into his arms and to a tight embrace, one of his hands brushing comfortingly through his hair. The same hand that had held him down while the other one bruised his face.

Bruce did that to people. He was an expert into making them crave for an approval that never came, for his affection. He kept those things as far away from them as possible, and then, at some point, when they expected it the least, he let out one tiny shred of it, making his fatherly, comforting embrace feel like the safest place in the world. Even now, after everything that had happened, the urge to just give in, burry his face on his shoulder and cry crawled all over him.

But he wouldn’t let it happen. Not this time.

“ ** _NO_**!” he yelled at him, shaking all over, breaking away by bringing both of his hands up against his chest to push him back. “You… you don’t get to do that, like… like this is going to fix everything!”

He was a mess by that point. Internally, he was cursing himself for the trembling of his voice, for being on the verge of tears, his eyes already moist. And Bruce was there, seeing this, and he hated himself for letting him.

“Jason—"

**“ _You ruined my life_!”**

This. This  _really_  got to him. And Jason felt a sickening satisfaction, because he wanted so badly to even remotely hurt him, so he made it sound like he meant it. At that very moment, through the anger, and the pain, and the desperation, he truly felt he did, with all of his heart.

“I wish I’d never met you”, he blurted out closing his eyes, both of his hands on his face. “God, if only I hadn’t met you!”

A suffocating feeling sprawled over him, followed by the desperate need to get outside, suck some air in his lugs -even Gotham’s fumes would do. This place now felt small, far too small. He rushed passed him and towards the exit.

“Jason, look at me”.

He didn’t want to. And yet he turned. “What else do you want from me?” he screamed.

Bruce locked eyes with his own, his jaw clenched. “I just want to look at my son.”

He let out a small, pathetic laugh. “You don’t understand. You never accepted it, did you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“That’s the problem, Bruce. Don’t you see?” he said bitterly. “You loved the child that I was back then, but you never managed to do the same for the one that came back”.

“You  _are_  that child!” he said firmly. “You never stopped being”.

“I’m not”. The words scratched his throat, hurting him deeply. “And you should know that by now.”

He headed back to the bookshelf and grabbed the photo frame with their picture. “Your son died back then”. He pushed it flat over his chest. “There he is”.

Bruce held it, but didn’t look at it. His eyes were still on him.

“ _Stay_.”

So shockingly unfamiliar. Not and order. Not a demand. Merely a  _request_.

“Stay away from me, Bruce. Just stay away”.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 _August 16 th came along with a nice, warm morning, and not a single cloud in the sky, which definitely wasn’t typical for Gotham. The sun seemed brighter and clearer than ever, and he wondered if that added up to his awkwardness. He wasn’t used to this weather, he wasn’t used to be up this early in the morning_ _… and what he was about to do certainly needed a lot of nerve._

_The sweet smell of pancakes, scrambled eggs and fresh coffee caught him before he even stepped into the dining room. Jason was already there, his mouth full, and Alfred was just now filling up the boy’s glass with more orange juice._

_"Champ! Happy birthday!”_

_The now thirteen-year-old Jason looked at him, stunned, as he swallowed and gulped. “Bruce! I… thank you!”_

_He hugged the boy tenderly, pressing a kiss on the top of his head before he took the seat next to him._

_“Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” Jason gasped, looking at his simple pair of jeans and casual shirt, while Alfred served him some coffee, smiling._

_“I took the day off. Thought we could spend it together.”_

_Jason’s jaw dropped, and he turned to Alfred. “You didn’t say anything!”_

_“Are you familiar with the concept of ‘surprise’, Master Jason?” the old man smirked._

_Jason’s eyes travelled back to him once more. “What… all day?” he stuttered skeptically._

_“All day long”._

_He thought he had never seen the boy happier than in that very moment. He felt utterly enthusiastic as well. It was inexplicably delighting to announce to his secretary and Lucius just the previous evening that they had to cancel all of his meetings, since he intended to spend his son’s birthday with him._

_Jason’s first birthday in the manor._

_They casually chattered about last night’s encounter with Two-Face, and once they were full and the breakfast was done, he realized he wouldn’t find a better time for this. He took one sip of his coffee_ _and decided to proceed. Stalling would just make him more awkward and anxious._

_“Now. Before we go for the most fun presents…”_

_“Presents? I get **presents**?” Jason exclaimed, not caring anymore about containing himself on his enthusiasm._

_“… there is this little thing we have to settle”._

_He stood, and Jason did the same, almost instinctively. He straightened his back and handed him the envelop he had brought with him, that was placed quietly beside him on the table as the ate. Jason took it and examined it with sheer curiosity. “You don’t say… money?” he grinned._

_“I thought of something more personal, to be honest”, he smiled._

_Jason shrugged and ripped the envelop open. He took out the papers, and he watched, with his heart pounding, as the boy’s eyes flied across the lines. As his expression gradually turned dazed, his eyes opening wide._

_Jason slowly lowered the adoption papers, his hands slightly shaking. “You… you want me?” he sputtered, voice trembling._

_He raised a hand and gently cupped the side of his face. “You are my partner Jason, and… you already are my child as well. This is just making it official… if you want it as well…”_

_He didn’t go on. The boy had rushed and hugged him, maybe to hide his eyes, that were watering a little. He couldn’t but also wrap his arms tightly around him, smiling over his head._

_“Dad”, he heard him whisper._

_He froze there for a second._

_Dick had never called him ‘dad’, even though their relationship had always been a deeply affectionate one. It could have been the fact that he himself was only twenty-eight when he got that thirteen-year-old boy, still quite young. Or the fact that he was unable to officially adopt him. Or, most probably, that unlike Jason, Dick actually **had**  a dad, a decent, kind, caring man, who loved his boy more than anything in the world. Dick probably held his memory of him pure and alive by not wanting to even call another man by that word. Bruce had never really wondered before which was the case, and honestly, he didn’t care. They loved each other as such, no matter how he called him._

_So, this… this was the first time in his life that anyone addressed him using that word. And it was one of the most heartwarming, endearing things he had ever experienced._

_He closed his eyes, raised him up and hugged him to his chest, no matter how big he was for that. He held him in his arms, clinging tightly to this priceless moment._

_His boy. His child. His son._

_“I love you, little guy”._


	5. Chapter 5

_“Look, Roy, please, just… can you tell me how he is?”_

_The guy huffed, casting a cold, piercing look upon him, as he took a sip of his beer._

_It had taken too much effort to persuade him to meet up-close. Even when he succeeded, the max he had managed was a meeting in that bar, just outside a small town in south Florida. Not in the actual location where they had currently taken shelter into._

_It really was a kick in the gut, the fact that Roy didn’t trust him enough anymore. They had never been as close as he was to Jason, but at least they liked each other. They were friends as well._

_He wasn’t used to people being upset with him._

_“Four broken ribs, one arm broken in two places, dislocated shoulder, twisted ankle, bad knee. One **really** nasty cut on the torso -bled **a lot**. A not-so-mild concussion, and everything that normally comes with it. Bruises in various places, but mostly face. One eye completely swollen shut. Oh, and one little, probably unimportant thing, that I would might as well call a form of fucking **depression**. Sooo… yeah. He’s doing great. Jay’s great. I mean… fuck. He can’t stand up on his own. He can barely make it to the bathroom, and that’s only because, you know him, he’s so fucking stubborn. He almost passed out one time”._

_“Christ”, he whispered quietly, rubbing his forehead._

_“I’m trying to take his mind off what happened, but it’s not the easiest thing. You know, because he’s in **pain** all the time”._

_He had the uncomfortable feeling that Roy was trying to make him feel bad. Like he needed help with that._

_“You know, I was surprised you didn’t insist on seeing him”._

_Dick shifted uncomfortably. “I just… I figured he wouldn’t want to talk to me” he said quietly._

_Roy chuckled. “Bullshit”._

_He sat up a little, feeling agitated, and honestly, kind of annoyed with his tone. “What’s that?”_

_“Bullshit, Dick, bullshit, is what I’m saying. You figured he wouldn’t want to talk to you? Really, man?”_

_“I don’t follow…”_

_“Is that the real reason? Or are you just afraid of how you’re about to feel as soon as he looks you in the eye and asks what happened **after** the incident, and your answer is probably something like ‘well, nothing, really’? Did you even talk with **him** about it?”_

_His heart sank on his chest as he lowered his head. There weren’t many times in his life that he felt such shame._

_“Bruce isn’t well, Roy. He hasn’t been well for a while”, was the only thing he was able to let out._

_The redhead raised his eyebrows. “Ok, wow! Just **wow**. You’ve got some nerve, Dick. You seriously dare to say something like that while Jason lies on a bed, filled up with painkillers that sometimes fail to work, and use it as an **excuse**? He’s not well, so he’s burdening Jason, **Jason** of all people with something like this?”_

_“What? No! No, Roy, I’m not excusing him, this isn’t what I meant! I was just…”_

_“No, you know what, shut up. How would I expect you to understand, golden boy? Has he ever beaten you, Dick? I’m not talking about a punch over an argument, I’m talking about a beating. Do you know how that feels? Getting beaten senseless by a guy that’s supposed to be like a father to you? Let me clue you in; the harder punch you’ve ever taken from a villain is a mild disturbance compared to **this** ”._

_He stops, just to catch his breath it seems, and Dick feels he can’t say a word back, because, even though he wants to defend himself… he’s right. Roy is right._

_“You’ve always had a thing with Kori. She also loves Jason. She loves him **dearly**. How do you think she’d feel about this, huh? Do you think she’d be proud of you supporting Batman?”_

_“Roy, I’m supporting Jason in this!” he pleaded, his voice sounding desperate._

_“Yeah, well… it doesn’t show”._

_Dick felt crushed. “You can’t actually mean that! Come on, Roy, don’t you think I want the best for Jason as well?”_

_“At this point, I have my doubts, to be honest”._

_He sighed, realizing nothing he said would matter there. “Alfred is worried sick about him and wishes he was able to be close to him right now. Could you at least tell him that?”_

_Roy’s face spasmed, and he didn’t give an answer right away._

_“Fine”._

_“Thank you”._

_“I trust that you can at least keep your mouth shut about this meeting. Not a word to your brothers either. We can't know if they're being watched"._

_It hurt that he had to ask that. Like he thought the first thing he’d do would be calling Bruce._

_“Listen…”_

_“You know, despite everything, despite the violence and all… Jason is good, Dick. He deserves better than you people. I know toxic things. And that’s what your so-called family is to him. Toxic”._

_Dick closed his eyes, shaking his head. “You’re being unfair, Roy”._

_“Oh, **I** am being unfair?!” He chuckled, got up and threw some cash on the counter in front of them. “Alrighty then. Leave Jay alone and go to that so-called ‘fair’ daddy of yours. Jason is the strongest person I know, and I’m gonna help him through this, and he’s gonna make it. He’ll be standing on his feet as soon as possible. What he does next, he decides on his own. But I sure as hell hope he has some goddamn mind left in his head to finally get away from that abusive asshole that you still call father”._

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Dick found himself on his side, facing the door. The room was sank into a blissful semi-darkness, the only lighting being the natural gloom of the dark evening, coming from outside the window. The bed felt comfortable and the covers were all nice and warm. Comforting silence all around. There would be something beautifully peaceful about the situation, if it weren’t for his throat, that felt insufferably dry, and the uneasy feeling of the new memory that had passed in front of his eyes just before he opened them. He was quite certain it wasn’t a dream; he found himself awakened long before it came.

He remained still for a few moments, almost holding his breath. He was half-expecting a new crisis on his head. He waited for a while, but this time, nothing happened. Not even a mild irritation. He felt heavy from sleeping for, apparently, about twenty hours or so, but even the headache was gone.

He tried to focus on this new person he apparently knew… _before_. The redheaded guy named Roy. Not a single other clue about him but the evidence provided by the memory, not who he was, how he knew him, nothing. He was vaguely thinking about arrows, bows and Indians. He couldn’t figure out why. In any case, judging by the memory, this one didn’t seem to like him very much at that point.

He was certainly close to Jason, though.

At least he had someone. And at least, now he knew he himself was a little less than the biggest asshole in the world. He had, more or less, tried to learn news from Jason.

His eyes roamed through the room he’d been sleeping into. It was his own. They had told him as much the first time he came visiting. Back then, he had gone pretty sad and disappointed that nothing but the Flying Graysons’ poster over his bed looked familiar to him. Nothing felt like… something he used to know. Not the furniture, the carpet, the covers of the bed, his own clothes. Not even the room itself; the spaciousness of it, the fireplace, the doors leading to the dressing and his own private bathroom. Not the telescope by the huge window. Not the acrobatic rings hanging from the ceiling. Not the small gym the sitting area of the room was turned into -by himself, apparently. Not the huge collection of Blu-ray action movies and video games that filled an entire bookcase. None of the other posters on the walls. None of the various comic books and graphic novels. None of the noir crime novels -it seemed that this was the reading he favored, especially Westlake’s novels, under all the various pen names the author used.

Yes. Back then, he felt utterly disappointed. Now, however, it was probably the only place in that house that he was comfortable into. That was why he grimaced then, realizing that he couldn’t stay in there forever. At some point he would have to find Alfred or Bruce, learn what had happened after he passed out.

He hoped for Alfred.

He slowly got up. A glance on the nightstand found him a glass, a pitcher full of water, his pills and a package of painkillers. He swallowed a pill and had two full glasses of water before he made his way to the door. The corridor was empty as he crossed it.

A sudden thought passed through his mind. Since his own room was being left untouched for the times he came back to spend some time in Gotham… it was only logical to suspect that this was the case for the others as well. He had a sincere wonder to take a quick look at Jason’s room. He knew it wasn’t right, and if he had correctly figured him out from the little they had spoken, he’d probably go furious at him… but he didn’t intend to swoop around. Just take a glimpse. Merely seeing Jason, talking to him, had triggered so many things, so many memories in just a few hours. Maybe this could further help.

He randomly opened a door and blindly looked for the switch in the wall.

This bedroom was more spacious than his own, or at least this was the impression given, due to the lack of the so many various items that overstuffed his own place. There were many books, most of them about science, programming and riddles, as well as the complete collections of the Harry Potter, the Three Investigators, the Sherlock Holmes, and Agatha Christi’s novels. Also, various science magazines, and a big collection of comics. One could find all the parts of tennis equipment throughout the room -it seemed like the occupant favored this sport. It was also obvious that he engaged in model building. There was an entire, high, shelfed showcase where many highly impressive pieces were demonstrated.

There was a sense of sweet messiness around, indicated in small details, on things that Alfred wouldn’t normally interfere during cleaning, he supposed. He imagined the occupant of this room must have been extremely messy in normal, every-day life.

He went to the desk, took a photo frame that was placed there in his hands, and instantly realized that this wasn’t Jason’s room: it was Tim’s. That was him right there, clearly younger, posing between a couple that must have been his parents. He noticed that he looked a lot more like his mother than his father.

He wondered how Tim had been. He hadn’t seen him in a while, since he last visited him in the hospital, while he was recovering. He was one of the most discreet people around, and his company always felt nice. Just like the rest of them, he genially seemed to care, though there were sometimes, when he looked at him, that he detected something strange on his face. A covered-up sadness of some sorts.

He sat on Tim’s chair and gazed out of the window.

And then, he felt a crawling sensation up his spine, as something new started to slowly form in his mind.

 

 

***

 

 

" _You can’t be serious”._

_Tim stood at the center of his bedroom in the Titan’s Tower, hands on his hips, his whole posture being that of a person who desperately wants to break something. He didn’t think there had been many times over the years that he’d seen him this angry._

_“I’ve explained you how things are” he said, eyes fixed on the floor._

_“You went all the way there -wherever the hell ‘there’ is-, you talked to Harper, but you didn’t get to see him?! Yeah, I’ll need a bit more explanation on that!”_

_His throat felt dry and sore, words painfully scratching their way out. “I thought he wouldn’t want to see me”._

_Tim’s eyes widened, looking at him like he had just got down there from a different planet. “What?! What’s that even mean, why wouldn’t he… how, I mean, why… You know what? Whatever. I don’t care. As far as I’m concerned, I **do** want to see him, and I **will** , so pass me Harper’s number, or IP address, or whatever way you’ve been communicating him…”_

_“No”._

_He raised his eyebrows. **“Excuse me?”**_

_“No, Tim. I… I can’t do that. I promised Roy I wouldn’t let anyone else know”._

_Tim looked shocked. He drew one breath and approached, taking the seat opposite him. His back arched as he leaned forward towards him. “Dick, what’s gotten into you?” he pleaded with him. “Please, please, come to your right mind! Jason is hurt, he **needs** us right now!”_

_“He has Roy”._

_“Well, sure, Roy’s great, but we’re different! This whole situation is…”_

_He stopped talking abruptly, his eyes suddenly narrowing as he drew back. “Is this about Bruce?”_

_Dick rubbed his jaw. “Well… it’s about him as well, yeah, but… also…”_

_“Also, what?”_

_“I’m… ashamed”._

_“What are you talking about, why would you feel…”_

_“We were on the phone, Tim! We were on the phone with Alfred, and Bruce said he’d bring Jason in on his own, and we… we just stood back and let him!”_

_“Oh! Well excuse us for not expecting Bruce to snap and beat him senseless!” he protested. “Dick, we could have never imagined what would happen! It was out of nowhere, it was unspeakable, and I still can’t explain it! That **wasn’t** the Bruce we know! He would never act like that! Even when he’d been angriest than ever, he never, never harmed any of us!”_

_“We knew he was heartbroken after what happened with Selina. We knew he was in pain. You **know** what Bruce does when he’s in pain”._

_“Yeah, but he takes it out on the villains, Dick, never to one of us… never to Jason, of all people! You can’t blame yourself for every time he goes nuts! What happened to Jason isn’t **our** fault, and I’m sure Jason would never blame it on us either! Dick, please, we can’t just leave him!”_

_Dick had hidden his face in his hands by that point. “He called me, you know. Bruce. Two days after it happened. Not a single word about it. He just asked me to take over the mantle for a while. Claims he needs some time off”._

_Tim starred at him with cold, empty eyes. “So? You’re doing it?”_

_“He isn’t well, Tim. He really isn’t”._

_“That’s a yes, then”._

_Dick swallowed. It did not help. “I thought… I thought maybe you should come along as well. With Damian away as well… it’s just you and me that can go back… currently”._

_Tim spent several seconds studying him in silence, before he got up and slowly headed again to the middle of the room._

_“You know, I hardly recognize you anymore, man” he suddenly spinned around. “You want me to go to Gotham and take care of Bruce, the big baby that he acts like, while Jason is God knows where, unable to even walk on his own? Is that what you want?”_

_“Tim… after a while, it’ll be just…”_

_“No, Dick, it won’t be alright -or forgotten!” he shouted. “How can you say that, like what happened was nothing?! Do you realize… can you even remotely put yourself into Jason’s shoes and think about how he feels? Your mind should be on him, not Bruce! He’s not the victim here! Jason is!”_

_“Tim, I **am** thinking of Jason, that’s why I feel I have to do this! To ensure that Bruce comes into his right mind, and nothing like that happens again! You think I’d just let this pass? There’s a right time for everything, you know that better than me! Bruce can’t have us giving him hell right now, he’d instantly go on offensive mode and shut us out! I’ve learned that this is how he acts long ago. The approach must be different in this case! He needs to calm down first, and **then** we can make him see!”_

_“Great. Great excuse, Dick, well done. But what did I expect? You’ve always enjoyed playing it a rebel, but the truth is, at the end of the day, you’ve always been running behind Bruce. His favorite boy, classically”._

_It was a kick in the guts, the fact that Tim, the most reasonable of them all, not only didn’t seem willing to try and process his logic at that very moment, but was also so flooded with anger and overwhelmed by the unfairness and the injustice against Jason that ended up attacking him, saying things that he’d be regretting later on._

_“I don’t ask you to understand. Though I’m sure that, at some point, you will. Just… please… don’t hate me for it”._

_Tim chuckled and brushed his own hair off his forehead. “You know, it’s finally starting to make sense now, the reason why you’ve always kept yourself away from Jason ever since he came back. I’d expect that you’d be the first person that would reach out for him, but truth is, I’ve witnessed **Damian** being more receptive of him than you were, at times. Were you ever really glad that he came back at all?”_

_He jumped up from his seat, fighting back one of the hardest fights in his lifr in order to restrain himself and not lash out on him. If it was anyone else other than Tim, a punch in the face would be the least serious thing he’d subject him into for such a comment. Tim seemed to instantly know that, regretting his words immediately. He didn’t take anything back, however, didn’t apologize. He just stood there, his fists curled up tightly, in that painful silence sprawling between them._

_“You’re angry, Tim. I get it. So… I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear that” he said stiffly._

_Tim crossed his arms over his chest, his jaw clenched. “I’m not returning to Gotham. And I don’t want to hear anything at all from him, not even the sound of his voice, until he decides to take responsibility and apologize for what he did to Jason. He can’t just run around preaching every single person in the world like he’s some kind of infallible savior. Not since he dares to do something like that and then acts as if it never happened”._

_Dick’s eyes dropped on the floor as he nodded._

_Maybe it was better. Better off this way. He knew. He understood. Tim was right to be angry. His choice to stay away was fair. But his own decision wouldn’t change. Bruce always preached about how other people needed to be controlled and stopped. This time, it was **him** that had to be controlled. Him that had gone completely off the limits and had to return to his normal state. Apparently, he couldn’t see that the way others could… but he absolutely had to recover from the phase he was into. And this had to happen discreetly, quietly and implicitly. It wouldn’t be easy. It was a very strange, tricky battle he’d have to give. But he’d make it happen, for Bruce, and for Jason, and for all of them._

_Damian was a child, and Tim was bitter, and Jason was deeply hurt in every way possible, since all of this tragically happened to come out on him. And all three of them, of course, had been angry. They, understandably enough, didn’t have the will to lay a helping hand._

_He was the oldest. He’d carry all of that, so they didn’t have to._

_“Tell me how I can contact Harper”, Tim requested again, sharply._

_“No, Tim” he answered softly, apologetically. “I’m sorry. I can’t”._

_Tim snorted and turned his back on him, heading to the window._

_“Go away, Dick. I don’t want to look at you right now”._

 

 

***

 

 

“Master Dick?”

He slowly turned his head to the man at the doorstep. “Hey, Alfred”.

The butler approached, laying a hand on his shoulder. “You should be resting, sir” he lightly schooled him.

“Don’t worry about it. I feel quite good”.

“Any pain?”

“No. Nothing. And before you ask, yes, I did get my medication”.

“I see”. Alfred smiled and looked around the room. “And how come I find you in Master Timothy’s bedroom?”

“I was actually looking for Jason’s”.

Alfred raised his eyebrows, but the very next moment, he just nodded in understanding. “Master Jason’s room is right next door”.

He looked uncomfortably at the wall separating the two rooms. As decisive as he was before, at that point he doubted he really wanted to go in there. He didn’t want another memory at that moment. The two that had already come to him had proven to be more than enough to make his heart sank even deeper on his chest. And after all, he didn’t want to risk getting into intense feelings again.

“You know, this used to be your own room, when you were a child”, Alfred informed him. Master Bruce passed it to Master Timothy as soon as he got to live here, a sign of recognition”.

“How kind of him”, he commented, vacantly.

Alfred sighed. “Please, don’t let yourself get consumed by shady thoughts. Not again. You have to think about your health”.

“Is he here?”

Alfred cringed a little, as he gracefully recoiled. “He is currently in the cave. He’s been preparing for tonight’s patrol”.

Dick just nodded. “What happened after I passed out?”

“We moved you to the infirmary for some quick scans that looked completely normal, and then to your room. We also called your doctor, just to be sure. He suggested rest, and a higher dose of pills for twenty-four hours. Painkillers are allowed, if there is further pain or inconvenience”.

Dick nodded affirmatively, one hand brushing through his hair.

“Are you hungry, master Dick?”

He processed the question for a few seconds, and then blinked at him, stunned; he hadn’t realized how viciously empty his stomach felt up until then.

“Maybe something light”, Alfred smiled. “Let’s go downstairs”.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

He had to admit that Alfred’s sour shrimp soup, along with some roasted bread and that feta cheese spread was one special thing. He would have enjoyed the meal so much more, if his mind wasn’t preoccupied with the talk he intended to pursue afterwards.

Alfred tried to keep him from it. He was obviously worried about what new tensions it might trigger. Dick had reassured him. He wasn’t going to let anything like that happen again. After all, he felt surprisingly calm. Empty and numb, sure, but still, calm.

He made his way down to the Bat Cave. He knew how to descend there -it was one of the first things Bruce had informed him on as soon as he stepped into the house once again. That whole process, even the gloomy staircase leading down there, still gave him the chills. He wouldn’t claim, however, that it wasn’t always accompanied by a sense of marvel and awe to this man’s intelligence and abilities, and to the fact that, apparently, this used to be an everyday part of his own life as well.

He froze as soon as he laid eyes on him. He was sitting on the floor, right in front of the glass showcase featuring that strange Robin suit, gazing at it. He had one knee bent, his elbow resting over it as the same hand unconsciously rested over his mouth. He was on his suit, his cape sprawling on the floor behind him. The mask, however, was left aside, as if forgotten.

“Um… Bruce?” he tried, approaching him.

He swiftly turned his head to look at him. He clearly wasn’t aware of his presence since the very moment he entered, which was surprising to say the least, but he could certainly tell why.

_He isn’t well, Tim. He really isn’t._

He looked as exhausted as humanly possible. He was extremely pale. Even darker, shadowy circles embellished the parts under his eyes. Even his posture seemed to scream fatigue, sheer weariness.

“What are you doing here?” he growled, reaching back for his mask. “You need rest”.

“Looks like I’m not the only one. It seems like you could use some sleep, you know. Don’t get up”.

He gracefully sat down beside him, cross-legged. His own flexibility never seemed to impress him. He didn’t expect he’d still possess that even after his injury. Bruce relaxed again, and their eyes travelled on the showcase once more.

“So… whose was this one?”

Bruce snorted, straightening his neck. “Jason’s” he answered quietly, voice coming out a little hoarse. “He was wearing it until… the night of his death”.

Dick frowned at that. “Why is it up here?”

He briefly glanced at him, before his eyes returned to the suit again. “So that I never forget”.

He felt himself slightly shivering, a crawl running down his spine at those words. He wondered into what other tortures this man had been willingly subjecting himself into.

“Bruce, some memories came back to me”.

He blurted it out so unexpectedly that Bruce didn’t seem to acknowledge the meaning of those words. It took him a few moments to sit up a little and widen his eyes. “Are you serious?” he demanded ruggedly, hands clenching on his shoulders.

“It’s not much, but… I think they were real”.

“When did this happen?!”

“Yesterday. The first one came when I was with Jason, and the second when… while we were arguing. Both right before the migraines hit. It was… the first one was of a hiking trip I took with Jason, when he was little. We stopped at that place… Glade of the Treehouses, I think? We practiced on a stunt he wanted to perfect. And then, when we came back… you were very angry, and you and I had a fight. Are those things accurate?”

Bruce nodded, astonished, drifting between joy and some kind of sorrow. “Yes… yes Dick, it’s accurate”.

“And then just now, when I came to my senses… there were more. Who is Roy? Roy Harper, is it?”

Bruce recoiled slightly, his eyebrows knitted. “You… you remembered this name?”

“I remembered more than the name. Who is he?”

He took his hands off his shoulders and sighed. “He went by the code name ‘Arsenal’. He was Green Arrow’s protege. And he was Jason’s best friend. You also were friends with him”.

“ _Was_ — _Were--?”_ he remarked, feeling his chest growing tight.

“He was murdered two weeks ago”.

“What?!” he exclaimed.

“It was a mass-murder case. We are not sure what exactly happened, or who the killer was… yet. I’m currently looking into it as well. I’ll figure it out”.

Even though his only memory of this person had just come to him nearly two hours ago, he couldn’t but feel shaken about what he had just heard.

“After what happened with Jason… I think I might have tried to contact this guy, without you knowing about it, to see how he was. It… wasn’t a pleasant meeting. And I also met with Tim, shortly after, I think. We had a fight arguing about… some things”.

He felt a lump in his throat while he said that, his sorrow deepening. It was distressing to think about the argument with Tim. He wasn’t entirely sure he was right in the first place, and he was overwhelmed by the uneasy feeling that this was the last time they had spoken to each other before the shooting.

“Why do I get these particular ones? Why now, and why after I met Jason in particular?”

He wasn’t sure he’d have any answer to give him, but it was obvious that this man had something to say on everything. “Painful memories, or those of traumatic events, are strongly imprinted in the human brain, much more graphically and lively than the good ones, and they’re far easier to be triggered. The stimulus could be anything, really, a small thing, a person, a sight, a sound or a smell, a gesture. Why Jason was the one in your case, I cannot tell for sure. Maybe it was the fact that you saw him so suddenly, for the first time after you woke up… and… _maybe_ what you’ve learned, the frustration caused by it, further added to the trigger”.

It was a logical explanation, he supposed. He stirred and tried to blurt out the thing that was eating his insides. “If this Harper guy was Jason’s best friend, and he’s dead… who does he have now? I mean… if he has a problem, or needs help, or anything… to whom will he turn to? Does he have anyone else?”

Bruce took a breath, facing away. “All you need to think about right now is your own health and well-being, Dick. You let _me_ worry about Jason”.

“Yeah, I’m not sure this would be very safe for him”.

Bruce closed his eyes shut, his fingers rubbing circles on his forehead, like he had a headache. “I am not… trying to make excuses here. But I want you to know… I want you to understand… what Alfred told you about… it _never_ was a regular thing to happen. It never happened before, with any of you”.

“Oh. That’s cool then. No big deal. I guess we’ll just give you a pass then”.

Bruce gave him a half-tired, half-poisonous look. Dick huffed, as his eyes drifted back to Jason’s suit. “Have we always treated him like he was less than the rest of us since he came back?”

“This has never been the case, Dick, despite how Jason sees it”.

“Well, there’s gotta be a reason why he thinks that, right? Why wouldn’t he? Take me for example, our relationship. He said it himself, I was always so close to Tim and Damian, but not to him. I never tried enough, not as much as I should have… I mean, I would feel the same way if I were him”.

“You’re being unfair to yourself. Back then, you were basically a child as well, you were only nineteen. And you _did_ try to be close to Jason. It was… it was me that didn’t let you. If you must blame someone, blame me”.

“Oh, I **_do_** blame you, alright. But I won’t simply disregard my own fault on this. What did it matter what you said, or our own ill relationship? I should have been there for him, even against your will. He was just a child, he needed…”. He choked up on his own words, feeling his heart heaving. “We’re just trash, aren’t we?” he grumbled. “Tell the truth, Bruce”.

He felt a hand tightening on his shoulder. “Not you” he said softly.

Dick chuckled. “Bullshit. No wonder that he hated me”.

“Jason _never_ hated you”.

“He does now, and the worst part about it is that I can actually understand why”.

“Dick… Jason was jealous of you, and maybe he still is, that is true. But he never hated you. He _cares_ about you”.

“Yeah, right”.

Something that could be identified as the vague shadow of a smile appeared on Bruce’s face. “During the past months, he’s been actively avoiding all of us. Yet he _did_ sit to have a talk with you. He could have walked away, pay no attention. But he didn’t. Do you think someone who doesn’t care would do that?”

“Maybe he felt pity for me. Or maybe he’s just… good. He does look like the type who’s actually mellow inside”.

“He is”.

Dick shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “I can’t. I can’t do this, I don’t understand. I don’t understand how you brought yourself to do that to him. This is… this doesn’t fit at all with the picture I had for you up until now. God, what were you thinking, Bruce?”

“I wasn’t… thinking”, his voice came out almost as weak as a whisper.

“Well… you should have. You should have”.

He felt his damn eyes watering, without knowing why, and nervously blinked in order to push that away. “I’m leaving tonight, Bruce. I’m going back to Blüdhaven”.

“No!” was the abrupt, commanding, expected reaction.

He sighed and gently pushed on the floor with his hands, slowly getting up. “Yes”.

Bruce also hopped up on his feet, trying to maintain a calm tone on his voice. “Dick listen to me… you’re still recovering. It’s not safe for you to be alone after what happen with those migraines!”

“I’ll just be more careful and keep intense feelings low. And no arguments, I know. I can handle myself”.

“You need someone watching over you for the time being!” Bruce firmly insisted. “Ask your doctors, they’ll tell you the same thing! Look, if you don’t want to see me, that’s fine, you won’t have to, not at all. But you _must_ stay here!”.

“I don’t want to be around you, Bruce” he said, expressionless. “I don’t… trust you”.

He felt nothing as he released those words. He did, however, felt a grip on his stomach when he saw his expression afterwards. This was too much.

“Dick… don’t go”.

He turned his back on him and headed to the exit.

“ _Please_ ”.

He stopped walking, clenching his teeth, unable to believe that he had heard that right, that this actually _was_ the word he used. For a few moments, it crossed through his mind to turn around. But then he saw Jason’s lost, sad eyes, and heard Tim’s angry, bitter voice in his head.

“You need to get yourself together, Bruce” he said, with his back still on him. “Maybe even more so than I do. And until you do that… I don’t want you anywhere near me”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So guys... next time, we go for the finale... maybe with a few surprises!
> 
> Have a great new month, everyone!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good evening, everyone. Or morning, depends on your timezone.
> 
> So. The finale is here... and... I apologize in advance. XD
> 
> Make sure you also go for the Notes at the end, after reading.

** Arkham Asylum **

** …Three Months Ago… **

 

 

_“You better not cause any problems”._

_Freeze sits on his bunk and hunches his shoulders, grimacing in pain. He doesn’t need to fake **this** at least -the pain, especially on his ribs, really takes his breath sometimes. He raises one hand in a weak gesture. “Even if I wanted to…” ,he growls. “It will take a long time for me to even stand right. I can barely drag myself to the toilet, not to mention **causing** anything. You know this better than anyone. You made this mess”._

_He tries to keep a straight face for those endless moments Batman glares at him. Then he turns to leave, and now is the time. If he screws up now… if Batman denies him this request… everything will be in vain._

_“Hey”._

_The Dark Knight looks over his shoulder._

_“Pass the book?” he manages hesitantly, pointing at the small counter that acts like a table -a newer addition to the cells. “Please” he adds, trying to make it sound sincere._

_Utter silence. Not just in there, but outside as well. A few agonizing seconds, and then -thank any fucking god that listens- Batman reaches for the book. He keeps it in his hand for a while -in both hands, he notices-, studying the cover. It’s just a copy of The Name of The Rose. Then, he tosses it next to him, on the mattress._

_“Thanks”, he says instantly._

_Batman doesn’t respond, neither does he look at him. The cell closes and a sound marks it as secured._

_“Hey” he hears the guard that had been waiting outside. “You’ve got something on your…” and he gestures towards his face._

_Batman, instinctively, raises a hand over his own._

_Yes. **Yes**._

_“Oh… sorry, I must have been… mistaken”, the guard stutters, blushing bright red in shame._

_He imagines the way Batman must be starring at him right now, and he chokes back a chuckle. Finally, the Knight turns and heads to the exit. And once he has turned his back, the guard -Kenny, is it?- briefly glances back at him, nodding with a grin, before he follows._

_He stays where he is, almost holding his breath, until the dull sound of the locking of the wing comes to his ears._

_They’re gone. He finally huffs, exhaling a tremendous amount of air it seems._

_There’s silence, but only for a few blessed seconds, before…_

_“ **Freeeeeezyyyyyy** …? You alive in there?”_

_He rolls back his eyes, sighing. “It’s all done” he informs the wing, in a loud voice._

_He hears Joker cheering, yoo-hooing. “Aaaaaall righty, **baby**! That’s what I’m talking about!” he bangs the walls of his cell. “Everyone! A thunderous applause for the man of the day! And he didn’t even take a punch, gentlemen! Oh! Oh, I mean, **today** , not in general…”_

_He doesn’t hold back the chuckle this time. He can’t see Joker’s cell from where his own is located, so he doesn’t bother getting up, further pushing his injuries. “If anyone deserves an applause, that’s you. I was certain you’d screw up by trying to taunt him”._

_“Oh, man! Oh, man, I could **barely** hold myself!” he claims. “You guys should have seen the **glare** he gave at me on his way out!”_

_“Just because we had a thing going on doesn’t mean we had to lose our charm. I, for one, waved at him as his passed” comes Riddler’s voice, and he can detect the smile by the sound of it._

_“Aaaah, Eddie. Always so subtle” Joker giggles. “Yeah, I couldn’t do that. It’s all or nothing for me. I like to sting him, you know me… Dammit, **god-fucking-dammit,** I can’t wait, I want to see it, I can’t believe we won’t get to see it **live**!”._

_Freeze pushes the book off the mattress and on the floor, using his elbow instead of touching it. He then kicks it under the bunk and winces as he lays down on his back. “I hope the others have everything settled. Otherwise this little act here will be in vain. I’d like to believe I didn’t let him kick the crap out of me for nothing”._

_“Don’t worry. Did the guard do his job right?” Nigma asks._

_“Yep”, he responds. “He was good too. Even blushed a little”._

_“Atta boy!” Joker cheers. “The big guy mentioned he used to be an actor before he decided to change careers”._

_“He changed from an actor to a guard in Arkham?” Riddler comments and he pictures him raising an eyebrow. “He’s either a sadist, or an insanely boring person”._

_Joker bursts out in one of those insane laughter rampages, and he grimaces. He certainly didn’t miss **that** sound. But he doesn’t care. Not really._

_He closes his eyes and lets a smile slide over his lips. Now they just have to wait._

_Just a few hours. Just a few._

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The rain drops flatly popped over the panes of his private library’s window, getting him out of his thoughts. As if alerting him for something.

He’d been sitting on one of the armchairs by the window for a while now. Simply starring at… nothing. His mind empty and numb. The only sound he could detect around him up until the rain started had been the constant, discreet ticking of the wall clock.

19:32, and counting.

He was on the verge of falling asleep, yet his eyelids didn’t seem willing to be pulled down. He felt his entire body stiff and tensed. He had come back from the rooftops at approximately 5:00 a.m. He had sunk on his bed two hours later and jumped up from a nightmare he couldn’t remember within three more hours, all sweaty and upset, his heart beating violently, as if it was about to explode.

Bruce couldn’t remember the dream, which made the situation even more frustrating. He vaguely recalled Arkham’s gates, and then some people in a group, in some kind of basement, talking quietly, talking loudly, scheming, laughing…

A dark blue twilight gloomed over the sky outside, through the mist. He reached out his hand and turned off the lamp on the table, letting the room get consumed by darkness, before he got up and made his way to the door.

Shadows, much like the ones he’d been dreaming about that morning brooded all over the house, dancing and whispering in the corridors, in the corners, on the walls, in his mind. He just stood there, at the top of the stairs, having no idea where to go, what to do.

He thought about calling Dick for a moment. It had been almost a day since he left, and he knew he had reached Blüdhaven and his apartment safely.

He didn’t dare to take the phone out.

All he could think about was how much he wanted to hear _their_ voices… and how he wouldn’t. Because Damian was still angry with him for making him abandon Gotham. Because Tim, with his behavior, had made it crystal clear he didn’t want anything to do with him anymore. Because Dick had lost all faith and trust in him.

_“I don’t want to be around you, Bruce. I don’t… trust you”._

And Jason… _Jason_ …

_“You ruined my life!”_

He let his steps guide him where they wanted, and soon he found himself opening the door to Jason’s room.

He took a seat on the red covers of the bed and let his eyes scroll around. He’d chosen to give him this room once he got in the house, no second thoughts. It was right next to Dick’s -now Tim’s- bedroom, and both of them were close to his own, so it seemed fitting.

Even when Jason was a boy, despite what someone would expect considering his origins and personality, his room had always been, by far, the tidiest one. He didn’t like to leave this to Alfred. He confessed to him at some point that he knew Alfred had so many things to do every day, so he hated to burden him with more chores, whatever they might have been. He’d found it endearing, and when he secretly told his butler about it, they just so happened to end up getting all of Jason’s favorite meals for a week. Alfred loved the children as dearly as he did, but just like he himself had a soft spot for Dick, Alfred most definitely had one for Jason.

The walls were decorated with posters of Jason’s favorite car and motorcycle models, both racing and civilian, all of elegant design and style, as well as pictures of pretty girls… and some that combined both. There was also a huge Led Zeppelin banner over the window. Jason loved quality rock music. On a shelf over his stereo lied multiple pieces of Led Zeppelin, Queen, Pink Floyd, Rolling Stones, The Beatles, Doors, Eagle, pretty much every big name in the world of rock.

Though Jason wouldn’t like to admit that, he deeply favored classic, as well as romantic literature -much like Bruce did. The bookcase here included Iliad and Odyssey, The Three Musketeers -this one was probably Jason’s favourite- and the rest of Alexandre Dumas’ d'Artagnan Romances, The Count of Monte Cristo, Gulliver's Travels, all of the adventurous and fantastical works of Jules Verne, Mary Shelley's Frankenstein and Stoker's Dracula, various pieces of Victor Hugo and Charles Dickens, such as Oliver Twist… and of what he’d noticed in his hideout, he had proceeded this way as well. Some of the books he’d find there included Tolstoy’s War and Peace, Wilde’s Picture of Dorian Grey, Sun Tzu’s Art of War, Machiavelli’s The Prince, Dante’s Divine Comedy.

He was quite certain that, if he carefully looked around in the room right now, he would find no less than a dozen of guns and knives.

Over Jason’s desk hanged a large bulletin board, with pieces of paper of all kinds and sizes covering its entire surface. During the time Jason had been Robin, he used to roam over each and every newspaper or magazine he could get his hands on. He would cut every single article or photograph regarding their actions as Batman and Robin and then pin those up. Later, he would just stand there, gazing, filled with excitement and pride. At this point, the older ones had been replaced or covered behind newer clippings, most of them about Red Hood and the Outlaws.

He reminded himself that this board was not the exact same one Jason used to have as a child, though...

 

 

***

 

_“Master Bruce?” Alfred shouted as he rushed up the stairs, searching for the source of those deafening noises. “Sir, where…”_

_He froze upon seeing the half-opened door of Jason’s bedroom, a hand gripping his heart. He headed there and stopped on the doorstep._

_Bruce was frenzied, in a clearly demented state. He was still in his suit, excluding the cape and the mask, his hair messy, his eyes glimmering in rage, and the entire room around him collapsing under his hands. Jason’s clothes, his books, CD’s, pictures and posters, notepads and schoolbooks, his baseball equipment -his **everything** \- laid on a pile in the middle of the floor. At that very moment, he had just grabbed the bulletin board, with all the clippings still attached on it. He raised it and then slammed it hard against his knee, breaking it in two._

_“Sir!” Alfred exclaimed, shocked, as Bruce tossed the pieces over the pile. “Sir, what on earth are you doing?!”_

_The Batman paid no attention. Just headed to where the stereo was, and,_ _grabbing it with both hands, he ripped it off its place._

_“That’s **enough**!” Alfred shouted now, commandingly._

_At that point, Bruce finally turned to look at him._

_“I want them all gone” he stated in a slightly trembling voice, pointing one finger to the pile. “I want… them… **GONE**!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. “Give them away… burn them… throw them in the trash… I don’t care what you do with them, as long as they’re all **GONE**!”_

_And then Alfred sees it. His glance reaches through the rage and the madness and he sees the thing; raw, and bloody and screaming._

**_Pain._ **

_“Why?” he asked softly._

_This simple word, this simple question seemed to melt the surface away. The real feeling came on top, along with a certain amount of vulnerability, and Bruce was evidently shaking now, looking younger than he was, reminding him of a child he once used to know._

_Alfred thanked God for this._

_It had been two weeks since Jason had been so inhumanely stolen from them. Joker, his murderer, had been caught ever since, but this made nothing easier. During that time, Bruce never took a break. The day after the funeral, he went on a business trip. Batman didn’t miss a night’s patrol. He spent as less time in the house as possible. He barely talked about anything but work. He never, not once, lost his nerve. He didn’t cry. Didn’t curse. Didn’t break anything. Never even raised the tone of his voice._

_In a few simple words, he didn’t **mourn**. And that, to Alfred, was terrifying. Keeping everything inside and shutting everyone out in such a case was the most frightening, dangerous thing one could do._

_But that day, something had changed; Dick had visited. Dick, who hadn’t seen Jason in a long time, and yet he looked angrier and more devastated than he’d ever seen him before._

_He knew they had a fight. He could tell by the fact that Dick made his way out of the house only a few minutes later, saying nothing, simply throwing his key on the floor and harshly shutting the door behind him. It wasn’t surprising, really, for Dick to be bitter. He had insisted on calling him, informing him themselves for what had happened. But Bruce wouldn’t listen._

_It seemed that facing Dick, engaging in that fight with him, was the last blow he could take. He had reached his breaking point._

_The mourning had finally started._

_“I… I can’t… look… I don’t want them… I don’t… anything that was his…”_

_“Say his name, Sir”._

_He shook his head and covered his face with one palm, while he reached for the wall with the other. He looked like he’d collapse right on spot._

_“Master Bruce!” he reached out for him, worried._

_He kept a tight grip on his shoulder until he managed to inhale, sucking a deep, ragged breath. His exhausted eyes found his own._

_“Throw them away, Alfred”, he said in a broken voice, before he made his way out of the room. “Throw them all away”._

 

_***_

 

 

Alfred hadn’t done that, of course. He simply cleaned up and put everything that wasn’t shattered or ripped in their right places. Even replaced some pieces. Knowing that, in time, Bruce would be grateful about it.

He gazed at Jason’s posters on the walls, on his books, on the bulletin board, and God, it was wrong seeking an encounter with him two nights ago. Wrong, and harmful for them both. But once Dick had passed out, he’d instantly convinced himself that it was absolutely necessary to find Jason, to learn what had happened. That he had to do this, for Dick’s sake. Only, this wasn’t the actual case. He already knew Alfred was right; Jason would never do or say anything that would possibly harm Dick, physically or mentally, while he was in such state. He meant what he said to Dick the previous night; Jason didn’t want it to show, maybe he even hated himself for it, but he _did_ care about Dick. He cared about all of them.

The migraine crisis was merely an excuse. One he had been looking for, for a while now. He just wanted… to see him. And even though they didn’t get into a physical fight, he felt bruises slowly, painfully forming in all the parts of himself that weren’t visible.

He knew his children way better than he knew himself. He knew about Jason’s temper, his character. Jason never bowed down his head to anyone. Never waited, never compromised. Never stood back when someone was in need. Always ready to throw himself in the fire, to lead all the way down to it. Like he didn’t know what fear was.

Only… he _did_. All people do, even if some choose not to let it show. Jason was one of these people. Until two nights ago.

It was harder and more painful than any blow ever delivered to him by a foe; the way Jason had flinched away the first time he reached his hand towards him as he passed by. That shadow of fear crossing his eyes.

His boy was afraid of him.

It was a kind of shock he’d never felt before in his life.

His fingers rubbed a few circles over his temples, trying to push away all memories. Trying, despite knowing they wouldn’t retreat. Jason’s accusations, every single one over the years, now echoed in his head, along with the newer ones. He was never truly, fully able to speak back to him, tell him how _wrong_ he was. Every time Jason started, he simply let him get it all out, and then… he just couldn’t bring himself to answer properly, even though there were a thousand, a million things he wanted to tell him. The words wouldn’t come out.

_You didn’t kill the Joker. You replaced me with another. You always thought Dick was better. You wanted me to be like Dick. You wanted me to be like you. You’d used me to get Damian back. You always loved them, but not me._

He wished he was able to make him see how deep and burning the temptation -the _need_ \- to pay his murderer with the same price was to him, not only back then, but even now, after all these years. Little did Jason know that he would have absolutely done it back then, if Clark wasn’t there to stop him.

He wished he could tell him that Tim was _never_ meant to replace him, because _nobody_ would ever be able to do so. Yes, he accepted to take Tim in, after a thousand times he rejected him, and only under the sheer and constant preasure of Alfred and Dick. And they were right to insist to that, because Tim had literally saved his mind. Training Tim, caring about him, kept him from driving himself to insanity after Jason's loss. But replace him? No. Not _that_. Never that.

He wished he could explain to him he was never worse than Dick, in any way or form. That each one of them had their own flaws and weaknesses, and advantages and talents. That he didn’t want him to be Dick, and he certainly didn’t want him to be _him_. That all he wanted was for him to be himself, because he was perfect that way.

He wished Jason could understand what losing another son meant to him, after having survived through it once already. Yes, he took him there, to Ethiopia. He had dared to request that horrible thing; for Jason to relive the worst night of his life.

Jason had never realized that that night was, by far, the worst night of _his own_ life as well.

He was no idiot. He realized what he asked for, and the extend of it. He knew Jason would be enraged and hurt. That he would hate him for the rest of his life ever since, and he would most probably never talk to him ever again. He knew he was being unfair, and he hated himself for it. That was why, later, he found himself provoking Jason to harm him, to hurt him; he knew he deserved it.

And yes, he was willing to take it, to deal with Jason’s hatred, if that meant he would have Damian back once more. He preferred living the rest of his life with a shattered heart than Damian not being able to live his own life at all. He preferred knowing that all of his sons were alive and well, even if they didn’t want to have anything to do with him, than having one of them dead.

How much he regreted and resented himself for that later, for even asking such a thing, was beyond words.

Jason had claimed he would never ask such a thing from Tim or Dick… and the thought that he might have been right, was scary beyond anything else. He couldn't know. Indeed, maybe he wouldn’t do that. Definitely not because he loved Jason less than the others, but merely because, up until that point, Jason had been the only one that had overcome death. It was entirely practical. Not to mention that, he wasn't certain if _they_ would bestrong enough to take it. Jason was. Jason was the strongest of them all. Maybe even stronger than him.

That inner strength of Jason’s… that never-ending strength, that always gave _him_ courage, and hope.

How he loved him for it. His brave, strong, fearless boy. God, how _fierce_ Jason was. The first thing he saw and loved in him that night he walked into Crime Alley and found the hubcaps missing, and the kid just standing there, not only unafraid of him, but also having enough nerve to talk back.

That was exactly why, with Jason, everything, every little argument, every fight, seemed to hurt more. Because whenever Jason did something wrong, it always came back to him: how _good_ Jason used to be. Reckless, sure -but good. How he could have been today, if… if he had managed to protect him better.

Whenever Jason did a bad thing as a child, he always tried initiating some sort of punishment, like any responsible parent would. But that little street brat had him wrapped around his little finger like no one else before -or after. Every time he scolded him, Jason would remain silent, hearing out everything he had to say, and then he would mumble a “sorry, Bruce, you’re right”, or something like that, simply giving him one of those adorably, falsely innocent, sneaky smiles of his, and he’d always find himself smirking back.

He had never been able to deny Jason anything back then, had the child been even remotely persistent about it. Not that he demanded things, of course -much unlike Damian, for example. Damian had always been tough, and yet, unimaginably spoiled. Dick had the potential of becoming spoiled, but he had handled that quite well, and it was prevented. Jason though, much like Tim, could have _never_ been spoiled. Tim because he was already too old when he got him, having grown up in an everyday family, and Jason because of the harsh life he had lived up until they met. Having learned to fend for himself, Jason was a boy that almost never asked for anything, even when he needed it. That was what made Bruce wanting to give him _everything_ , all the things Jason never had in his life before, both materially and emotionally. He wanted that child to be _happy_.

Needless to say, he had failed miserably to that extend.

When the boy he was gone, he also took his heart with him. Until he so unexpectedly came back. The child that died, leading him to suffer a loss that had doomed him to hell every minute of every day ever since, was alive. _Alive_. And instead of being a reunion of joy and love and affection… it was only spite, and hatred, and bitterness.

His once loving boy was back. And he absolutely loathed him. A new trauma for him to endure.

But he knew. He knew. It wasn’t Jason’s fault. He had survived all the horrific things done to him, he had fooled death, came back… and before he ever reached to him, _others_ did. And they - ** _she_** \- filled Jason’s head with rage and lies. And Jason must have been vulnerable, and sore, and desperate, so he listened, receptive, as she worked, poisoning his mind and his soul against him. Replacing all the many beautiful things Jason had inside of him with everything that was convenient to her. Taking his flaws and enlarging them to create a menace meant to end Batman.

Ra’s. And ** _Talia._**

 

 

***

 

 

_He smashes the window with a kick, his foot landing over a man’s -now cracked- head._

_Armed guards lash over him, screaming things in their earpieces about the Batman, in their language. They’re not many. One more kick, one double punch. He breaks one man’s calf almost in two. One last kick shatters the last standing guard’s helmet to pieces, most possibly dislocating his jaw. A jet of blood flies in the air as he falls flat against the floor, his riffle far away from his hands now._

_He strides the room heading to the desk. Behind it, she stands on her feet, completely still, watching coldly as her men go down one by one. Totally unimpressed she seems, as he gets closer and closer. She looks stunning, as always. Her long,_ _brown hair is up in a tight ponytail. Her burgundy red formal suit is hugging her slender figure perfectly, seductively. Her dark brown eyes beneath those thick, long eyelashes gaze at him._

_He smashes his fists over the desk, infuriated. “What did you do to him?” he hisses through gritted teeth._

_Talia arches her neck. “Whom are we speaking of?”_

_Just two nights ago, when Red Hood took his mask off and he saw the face behind it, his whole world had span around. A second time later, in the cave, when the results of the DNA tests came out, certain and clear, denying him any doubt that it was true. That **he** was alive._

_She knew damn well whom they were speaking of. Yet she just stood there, pretending he had to explain to her. **“JASON!”** he screams._

_A glimpse of a faint smile rises upon those scarlet painted lips of hers. “Is his training not to your satisfaction, beloved?”_

_He feels he could snap her neck right on spot._

_Harsh footsteps and voices come from the corridor outside. The door slams open and more men rush inside. Before they can do anything, Talia raises a hand, stopping them, eyes still locked on his own. She then gestures them away. They withdraw guns and retreat out of the office once more, shutting the door behind them. Leaving back a devastating silence._

_“What… did you… do?” he demands once more, dangerously._

_Talia inhales deeply, and then, thankfully for her, she starts talking. She’s of_ _few words, just facts, things right on point. She found him. Took him in. Tried to make him recover. Cared for him, for two years straight. But nothing seemed to work. And then the Pit._

_“You’ve had him for two years” he speaks quietly, voice slightly shaking in rage, “and you kept him away from me?”_

_Talia leaves from behind the desk to approach him, and then sits on its surface. “The boy clawed himself out of the grave and roamed in the street until someone found him. Catatonic. Unresponsive. In a completely vegetative state. They’ve had him in a hospital and then in an asylum, for five months, until he was mysteriously gone. Do you know how he was when I found him?” she says in hoarse voice. “He was living in the streets. He wasn’t harmed. I suppose somebody must have tried… and failed. The only reaction he ever gave was fighting back when attacked… and it was **your** fighting, beloved. _ _So… he was safe of that, though I still have no idea how he fended for himself. He was still vegetative. I took him in. I took care of him. I did everything in my power to restore him… so I could get him back to you, healthy and well, just like you remembered him. I guessed… this would be a relief to you"._

_He throws his head back and laughs. It’s one of the scariest sound’s he’s ever heard. “You ‘guessed’", he repeats blankly. “Excellent. And then? Why didn’t you do that when he came to?”_

_Talia gets up. She stands in front of him, crossing her arms. “After I used the Pit to revive him, my father wanted him dead. I had to protect him”._

_“And instead of directly sending him to me, even then, you tossed him back in the **streets,** like some kind of a stray dog? You thought he'd be more protected there, on his own? A seventeen-year-old boy that lived secluded from the world for years?”_

_“He was never alone. Not really. I always looked after him, checked on him. And frankly? Yes. Yes, I think he was more protected. He is still alive, if you noticed. Why would I trust you with his protection? You miserably failed the first time. Remember?”_

_No holding back this time. This **does** earn her a slap. She instantly reacts by backhanding him on his face, hard._

_“Prove me wrong” she provokes him._

_“How dare you!” he shouts. “How… **DARE YOU!** Pretending you care about Jason! After keeping him imprisoned for years, taking advantage of his situation, and then poisoning his mind so you could **use** him, like he’s some kind of weapon…”_

_“ **I** don’t care?” she suddenly roars like a lioness. “ **Me**?! He was unresponsive at the times he was awake, and yet, **every night** he cried in his sleep! And every night I was **there** , holding him, stroking his face until it stopped…”_

**_“I SHOULD BE THE ONE DOING THAT_ ** _!” he screams at the top of his lungs. “He was **MY** CHILD! **MY SON!”**_

_He sees her cheek redden by the slap. His face must also be slowly bruising by her own blow -her ring had caught his jaw. She huffs and snorts, mockingly. He knows what she’s doing. She wants to taunt him, and damn her, she’s managing it._

_“At this point, I’ve had him longer than you, knight” she proclaims, her eyes throwing flames. “I guess you’ll have to accept… that he’s mine now… much more than he ever was yours”._

 

 

***

 

 

For a time back then, there was no other person he hated more than Talia. He didn’t know about Damian’s existence yet, and that’s why it still felt so inexplicable to him, the fact that he actually  _was_ able to prevent himself, restrain his violent need to severely harm her.

He had spent endless hours wondering on what lies she told Jason. He believed he had an idea as to what it might have been. That he never cared to punish the monster that so violently snatched him away from him. That he replaced him, first chance he got, which meant he always considered him replaceable. That he conveniently forgot he even existed.

Like _**that** _would ever be possible.

Maybe one day would come that he’d forget everything else, everyone else, but not Jason. **_Never_** Jason. Dick might have been the laugh that grew up and moved on, but Jason was the love and caring that was stolen from him. **_This_** is something a parent would never be able to overcome.

There was no way for him to tell him that now. And how could he, after all. In what words could he describe the pain, the sheer devastation his loss had caused him back then? How could he ever talk about those endless nights he roamed the streets and roofs of Gotham, a ghost of man, holding on his feet just out of habit, viciously beating every menace he’d come across, trying to cause upon those criminals the same injuries he’d detected upon his child’s lifeless body, or trying to get **_them_** to cause those things on _him_ , if they could, only to see how much it hurt… to see how much _Jason_ had hurt. In the hope that the pain would be, at least, bearable.

How could he describe to anyone -to Jason, of all people- all those times he found himself unable to close his eyes as he desperately tried to drift into the comforting darkness of sleep? How he would lie there on his back instead, staring at the ceiling, thinking about how Jason died. Wondering if he waited for him to save him. If he was frightened. If he had begged. If he hated him when he realized he wouldn’t arrive on time. And then he would be turning his head weakly, to look at their picture on his bed stand. Not the same one that Jason had in his hideout, but a different one. They were both in their civilian clothes, in front of the manor, the day of Jason’s 15th birthday. Just three months before it happened.

He felt he would run out of oxygen at those moments. He would turn his head into his pillow, curl to himself, him, a grown man, the **_Batman_** , and cry, like a small, lost, desperate child.

No. There were no words. Nothing was enough to describe how he missed his boy back then… and how he missed him _now_ as well. That boy that Jason claimed was dead, but he knew, he knew it was still somewhere inside him, because his eyes couldn’t lie. Not to him.

That was what he continuously repeated to himself every time Jason lashed at him with those vicious accusations, and he wanted to burst and let everything out; hold on. Be _patient_. Let him rant. _It’s not his fault._ Grit your teeth and take it. It’s not his fault. _Endure_. It's not his fault. You deserve it, and he doesn’t know.

_He doesn’t know._

He got up and left the room, closing the door behind him.

He hadn’t realized how much time had passed until the clock downstairs dully announced it was now nine. He normally still had at least one hour before he started getting dressed, but he couldn’t stand just sit there until then. He wanted to put on the cowl once more. It was his only comfort now.

He had already skipped dinner -again- since his stomach still felt tight, which was a usual thing these days, and simply followed the rest of the now meaningless routine; down the stairs, in the living room, to the clock, down the stairs again, and to the cave. Just like a little poem.

He tried to avoid looking at Jason’s suit, but his eyes almost instinctively fell upon it. The reminder of his misjudgment, and his eternal responsibility in Gotham… and in his **_family_**.

_“I wish I’d never met you. God, if only I hadn’t met you!”_

He approached and placed a hand over the glass, closing his eyes.

 

 

***

 

 

_He rushed into the cave, tearing the mask off his face and throwing it on the floor. Alfred was there, looking at him stunned, like he didn’t recognize him. It wasn’t strange. He was all sweaty, visibly shaking in rage, like an unleashed, wild animal. His must have looked crazy._

_“Sir, what happened?” he asked, voice numb and cautious._

_He didn’t give an answer, walking straight to the computer, wincing a little at the heavy pain on his shoulder blades and back. Bizarro, the clone,_ _the damn clone. The bruises would be nasty, probably covering all of his upper back. There would be pain for a while on._

_“Call Arrow!” he practically screamed the command at the computer._

_“Sir!” Alfred raised his voice from behind._

_He tried to focus on the dialing sound, supporting his weight by putting both fists on the desk. He kept his head lowered. He was boiling, on the outside and on the inside. On the fifth dial, he was half ready to smash the screen in front of him. Thankfully, he answered._

“Hey Bats” _came Oliver’s voice._ “That’s some good timing, man, I was just thinking about…”

_“I want Arsenal. Where can I find him?” he growled, cutting him off._

“Um… what’s that?”

_“Harper, Oliver, where’s Harper?” he shouted angrily._

_Oliver sighed on the line._ “God fucking dammit. What’d he do?”

_“I need to find him, now. **Yesterday**. Do you know where he is?” he mumbled through gritted teeth._

“Oh, I… well, I have no idea, actually. Haven’t talked to Roy in a while. Hey, speak up, man, clue me in, what’s the matter?”

_He saw red. He wanted to break something. He wanted to break **everything**._

_“Contact him if you can, before I find him myself. Tell him to hand over Jason immediately, or he’ll suffer the consequences as well”._

“He’ll… what the fuck is that even supposed to mean, are you out of your mind? What’s gotten into you? Explain, or…”

 **_“CALL HIM AND TELL HIM THAT!”_ ** _he roared. “ **If** you still want him whole!”_

 _There was a small pause on the line. "_ You touch Roy, and I’ll fucking gut you like a fish. You’re crazy to think I’d tell you where he’d be, even if I knew, when you’re calling like this. Fucking psycho”.

_He hang up, and the line went dead. He knew he'd probably start calling Harper immediately. He could, of course, try and track his phone, but it would be meaningless. Harper was no idiot. He wouldn't answer his phone at that moment, no matter who was it that was calling._

_He dragged the chair and sat on it, back arched despite the pain, elbows resting on his knees, breathing heavily. He felt like he was suffocating._

_He glanced at Alfred. He was still there, still looking at him like he’d never seen him before, like he was some kind of lunatic._

_“Call Dick and Tim", he blurted out, taking the gloves off his hands._ _“Tell them if they shelter them or help them in any way, no good will come upon them”._

_Something inside him complained for the first time. It was like he heard himself from afar, saying -doing- all these horrible things, and his real self was desperately clawing himself back on top._

_Alfred didn’t move one bit. The shock was gone within moments, got replaced by something else. He surveyed him with a stealthy look now on his face. The red marks on his knuckles. The blood on the chest of his suit._

_“What?"_ _he abruptly snapped at him._

_“Whose blood is that?” Alfred retorted, blankly._

_He huffed but didn’t open his mouth. Alfred was a smart man. He had already figured._

_He approached and pushed the phone on his chest._

_“Here. Call your children yourself. The ones that you still have left” he said stiffly. “Tell them what you did. See if they are proud”._

_He then headed to the exit, but at the last minute, he turned to look at him with cold, glassy eyes._

_“I’ve known you since you were born. I raised you. During all this time, there was never a single moment that I felt ashamed of you. But tonight, the first time in my life… I feel relieved your parents are not here to see this"._

 

 

***

 

 

It made him wake up. **_Literally_**. Hearing Alfred saying that felt like someone had thrown a bucket of icy cold water all over him. Made him snap out of this delirium he was floating into for those past hours in an instant, and he saw. He _saw_ what he’d said. What he’d done.

To _Jason_.

He remembered his fists _aching_. His knuckles slowly bruising. The terrible tightness that clenched his chest upon the realization, was there to _stay_. It still didn’t seem to go anywhere to that day. He’d learned to live with it by that point.

Just a few days before, his knuckles ached once more. This time by a blow delivered to Jim Gordon’s face, while the man was trying to make him pull himself together.

Alfred wasn’t the only one that felt ashamed of him. No one could ever be more ashamed by his very own self.

Tears slowly gathered up the corners of his eyes. He put up a mild effort to keep himself together, before he completely let go. It was alright. There was nobody there to see. Nobody there to hear. They were all gone. Every single one of them. His parents. His partners. _Selina_. His kids.

His **_kids_**.

He slowly slumped on the floor, with his back against the glass. He hid his face into his hands, reducing to silent sobs.

“Jason”, he managed out, voice quieter than a whisper. “Jason…”

But, alas. Jason wasn’t there to hear him, now that he was at his weakest, vulnerable enough to confess… to spit out that thing that devoured him from the inside, all this time, ever since the night of the beating… that thing… the thing that he didn’t dare to tell him as he stood in front of him two nights ago. He had preferred to watch, heartbroken, as Jason made his way to the door, knowing that this time he was losing him _for good,_ that he might never see him again. He just stood there and let it happen… instead of letting the words out. Because he knew it would sound crazy, absurd, ridiculous, that Jason would hate him even more, because he’d think he was lying… even though he wouldn’t.

But, God, how could he ever tell him that he…

“Master Bruce?!”

He must have been at least _audibly_ sobbing by the time he raised his eyes and saw Alfred kneeling beside him, with a worried -if not shocked- look upon his face.

If there was one person in the world allowed to see him in such state, it most definitely was Alfred. And so, he didn’t bother trying to gather up his last shreds of self-restraint. He couldn’t, even if he wanted to. He felt exhausted. Broken. _Tired_. So, so very tired.

“Alfred…” he croaked, his hands clinging tightly to his coat, “I am sorry… so sorry… please, believe me… I…”

His voice died in a whine, as his head dropped. The older man gently put his hand on the back of his neck, trying to get him to look at him again. Despite his agony, Alfred was standing as still and steady as ever. Right there. Always by his side.

“Sir, you need to calm down” he said, as calmly as he could at the time. “Inhale. Exhale. Can you do that for me?”

“No, no, I won’t… I can’t… Alfred, my boy… **_my_** **_boy_** …”

Alfred put each hand on each side of his neck, comfortingly, protectively, cutting his words off in order to clear things out. “Which one, sir? Master Dick? Damian?”

He shook his head. No. “Jason…”

Alfred flinched a little but didn’t lose his nerve. “Very well. Master Jason. What about Jason, sir?” he tried again.

“I…”

In what words… _in what words…_

“It wasn’t _me_ , Alfred” he said, his voice gradually breaking more and more in each syllable.

The place went as silent as a grave for several, long moments. The butler looked baffled, confused. “I… I am sorry, sir, I don’t… what do you mean by that?”

He wiped his face with the back of his hand and sucked a shaky breath. “What I did… the beating… Alfred, I was… I was there, and at the same time, I wasn’t… I…”

He had to find a way. Now that he’d started, he absolutely needed to find a way to describe it.

“Do you remember that night?” he asked, shivering. “I’m recalling it in my mind… all the time. Every single second of that goddamn night before **_that_** happened, trying to find out… I was in Arkham. Do you remember? The first place I went to”.

“I… yes”, he agreed, a spark of memory in his eyes. “Of course. The Freeze case”.

Bruce nodded. “I saw him. Talked to him in his cell. I passed in front of Joker’s on my way out. He said _nothing_. Just stood there, starring and smirking. I thought it was odd. Then Riddler waved at me, from his own cell, the one closest to the gate of the corridor. Nothing unusual there. I talked to the guards. I went to fill the director in… and that was when I started feeling it”.

“Feeling what, sir?”

“Anger, Alfred. Rage. Sudden. Inexplicable. It started slow and within a few seconds, it was… burning me. And nothing had happened that could have upset me, everything had worked out as good as it could be. The man was simply talking to me, and all I could think about was how much I wanted -how much I **_needed_** \- to crush his face over the desk”. He run a hand through his hair, focusing on reaching the narration to the very end. “I didn’t let it show. I returned here, and then, the news… you were already watching it -Jason and Penguin. Dick and Tim were on the lines… and I said I’d handle it. And as soon as I got there… as soon as I got to Jason… I had completely lost control over me”.

He smashed one fist against the floor, letting out another restrained whine through gritted teeth.

“The rage… like a  _poison_. It… burned, Alfred. It literally burned, and I couldn’t… I had to make it stop, and it only stopped… when I attacked! I didn’t… Jason was not the point there! I would have done this to anyone that stood in front of me at that time! Do you understand?” he ended up shouting.

A meaningless, rhetorical question. Alfred _always_ understood. “You’re saying you might have been… under the effect of _something_?” he asked hoarsely.

“I **_know_** I was, Alfred”, he answered wearily. “As soon as you left the cave, I ran a blood test. There was a substance we’ve never seen before. The formula resembles Crane’s. I looked for him. Nothing. As if the ground opened in two and swallowed him”.

Alfred’s eyes widened in shock, his jaw dropping. Well, if he had managed Alfred to lose his style and attitude… that definitely meant _something_. “How? _Who_?” is the only thing the man managed to get out of his throat.

“I don’t know” he whispered. “ _I don’t know_ ”.

Alfred stood there, in front of him, devastated. “You’ve known this, all this time… and you’ve been carrying it on your own? Why didn’t you tell anyone? Why didn’t you tell _me_ , sir? We could have worked this…”. He stopped talking, a moment of realization suddenly hitting him. “Did you tell this to _Jason_?”

He opened his eyes to look at him again. “No”, he responded softly, dropping his gaze on the floor.

“Why?!” the butler shouted agonizingly, sounding almost devastated. “Why, sir, **_why_**?”

“If I told him… he probably would have gone into rampage, he would never believe that. But even if, out of some miracle, he _did_ believe me… he wouldn’t go. He’d stay. He’d felt like he _had to_ ”.

"He would stay because he would have _a reason!_ He would know that you would never deliberately..."

He drew one large breath, before he pushed against the floor to rise on his feet once more, turning to look at the showcase. “Do you know what he said to me?” he spoke quietly. “He said that I ruined his life. That he wishes he had never met me”.

“Master Bruce, he is angry, he is **_hurt_**! He did not really mean that!”

“He did”, he responded sharply. “And he’s right, Alfred. He’s right”.

“No! It is not true! Sir, you loved him! You still do!” he firmly insisted.

He slowly turned to look at him. “And what good did that ever did to him? When have I ever given him anything but pain? I got him killed, Alfred! I got him killed back then. And when he came back, I never showed him the trust I should have, never gave him the affection he needed to feel, because… because I was angry at him, so bitter for his actions against me… unable to comprehend that **_it wasn’t his fault_**. It wasn’t”.

“Sir, after what you just told me, it is a fact that you never…”

“No. No, Alfred. No more excuses” he put both of his palms on the glass, looking at his vague reflection over it. “I was scared… and stupid. All because… because I wanted back the child I’d lost _exactly_ the way he used to be. When Jason reappeared, enraged and heartbroken… I wanted to help him the way I considered fitting, yet I never bothered to ask him _what kind_ of help **_he_** felt he needed! Idiotically enough, I thought I knew better. And I didn’t want to accept that, during those years, after everything he’d been through, he inevitably _changed_. It was so… so hard, and now… now **_this_** happens…”

He felt Alfred’s hands on his shoulders. “All you wanted was to protect him” his comforting voice came to him. “For him to be happy!”

“And yet… I’ve teared his soul apart, Alfred” he whispered.

His hands slid off the glass, and then up to his face, to wipe off some new tears, before he started slowly heading to the computer. He took a seat on his chair, feeling he would break into pieces and scatter on the floor any moment now. He casted his eyes upon his slightly shivering hands.

“I had to let him go, Alfred” he said, unable to recognize the shreds of his own voice, as he brought his hands to the lowest half of his face. “It was the last thing I could do for him. He’s safer when he’s away from me. Happier. If this is what it takes to protect him… from everyone… from _myself_ … then let him be”.

Yes.

Let him be. Let his boy be.

And let his own heart slowly bleed out to nothingness.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_It wasn’t the most well-equipped hideout, and certainly far from anything even remotely close to ‘stylish’, but he was gladly taking it. Being under Arkham was better than being inside its cells, after all._

_“Play it again, Eddie, dear God, please, **please** , just one more time, one **teeny-tiny** …”_

_He huffed, crossing eyes with Dent, who, obviously equally annoyed, grimaced and rolled his eyes to the ceiling before he kept playing with his coin._

_Joker had been in a delirious tantrum of, frankly, disturbing excitement for the past twenty minutes or so, ever since the clip of the news had come online._

_“Look”, Nigma started slowly, sounding very weary. “We are all very glad about it, but we’ve already watched it like twenty-five times, it’s getting a little…’_

_“Aaaaaand now it’s twenty-six!” Joker exclaimed, snatching the phone from his hands and pressing the repeat button once more._

_Several sighs and even more displeased sounds filled the room, as the reporter’s voice once more reached their ears:_ “… it was only moments ago that the vigilante **_Red Hood_** cold-bloodedly shot the notorious crime lord Oswald Cobblepot, also known as **_Penguin_**. The local mogul is still down, in critical condition, as…”

_They didn’t hear the rest of it. Joker’s maniacal laughter covered everything up. To him, it wasn’t as annoying as usual. Nothing could ruin the satisfaction of success._

_“Well done”, Dent nodded from the opposite seat. “Your plan didn’t fail one bit so far, Strange. I wonder if everything else will go as planned as well”._

_He stirred a little bit. “No need to worry. He’s going after Hood, probably right now, as we speak. Be sure of that. You know how fast he’ll find him… just think about how fast he finds **us** most of the time, when we least expect him -and Hood doesn’t expect him at all right now. The toxin won’t wear out until two more hours pass. Approximately, by the time he gets to him, it will be at its highest point of effect. Hood will be lucky if he survives tonight”._

_“It’s impressive how you’ve developed this substance. That’s mainly Scarecrow’s field”._

_“I would hate to steal glory that isn’t mine; the core of the formula was indeed his own making. I simply modified it, enhanced it a little bit. Focused its trigger on the anger and rage hormones, instead on those that center around fear. I most definitely will claim credit for the plan, though”._

_“Absolutely”, Two-Face agrees. “Ain’t taking it from you. Not that others didn’t have critical parts to play, though. That kid of a guard that made him touch his face after your little poisonous book, and Freeze… damn, Freeze couldn’t walk down here, he preferred to stay in his cell. And he did that to him with no need of a toxin. He took a major risk by accepting helping us without knowing the various details”._

_“It wasn’t that we would be able to inform him while he was still in custody, waiting for his trial. But, more than his body, it was his ego that was hurt. I knew he would help without asking much._ _He wanted a little vengeance”._

_“Understandable. And think about Cobblepot. I mean, I would never accept to risk as much as he did. He was so certain nothing tragic would happen, but Hood is unpredictable, we know that. Hell, I didn’t expect him to go for an execution, I must say. I thought he had stopped with the killing”._

_“I made sure that Penguin would drive a knife into a very soft spot of his” he smiled._

_“Damn” Harvey sighed, looking over his shoulder, back at the maniac who was now singing and dancing around the room. “Even the damn clown helped at some point, right? I hate to have to admit that”._

_“Whaaaaaaaaat are you two conspiring about?” Joker exclaimed, jumping on the seat beside Dent and hugging him with an arm around his shoulders._

_“Fuck off, psycho” Dent growled, freeing himself._

_“You’re no fun, Harvey”, he putted._

_“Where is Bane already?” Gotham Girl’s voice echoed in the place._

_“He’s probably still in his cell, convincing the morning nurses that he’s nothing else but an oversized, needy baby”, Riddler huffed._

_“Well, he no fun either”, Joker mumbled, shrugging._

_“Actually”, he raised his voice, drawing back his attention while the others drifted to a different conversation, “Harvey and I were just talking about you”._

_“Awwww, Hugo!” he chuckled. “I’m going to blush!”_

_“Your contribution to the plan was no less important than anything we did. You know, I thought it was odd when you insisted to start alienating from his family with Hood. I would have suggested Bane to go straight for the first Boy Wonder”._

_“Ahh, see, that’s a classic mistake you guys make. Our dearest Nighty-Night-Wing shouldn’t be the first one to go, but the very **last**. The final blow. The cherry at the top of the cake”._

_Dent hummed, unnerved. “You know, it’s always bothering me, the fact that you think you know the Bat so much better than the rest of us”._

_Joker comfortably leaned to the back of his chair, smirking, as he scratched his jaw. “Aren’t I, Harvey?”_

_The question felt rhetorical, so it remained unanswered. Joker, for the first time during the night, didn’t look like his primary goal was to gain fun… but to teach a lesson. “Let me ask you this, gentlemen” he said, cheerfully. “Can a man keep being himself, while his spirit is broken?”_

_“We’re living half our lives in Arkham at this point, and we’re still on our feet. You’ll feel… down, but I’ll say yes. We are, more or less, the same, at least” Dent scoffed._

_“Excellent, excellent example, Harvey” Joker vigorously nodded. “What abouuuuuut… mind. Can someone keep walking at a time when they’ve lost their minds?”_

_“Well, clearly” Hugo Strange shrugged a bit. “Many problems will be caused, they’ll lose many goods, but one will keep living”._

_“Very good. What about instinct? Is instinct a vital thing nowadays?”_

_“It can be quite useful. It can certainly save your life, and guide you, at some point. But if you don’t have it… no, it doesn’t mean you’ll be destroyed”._

_Joker’s smirk now turned into a grin, as he moved again in his chair, forward, crossing his hands on the table in front of him. “And what about the heart?” he asked quietly. “Can a broken heart break you? Destroy you? Crush anything that’s still standing?”_

_Their silence was the most prominent way of saying yes._

_“Bingo”, Joker clapped his hand on the table. “That’s what we’ve been doing tonight. That was my invaluable contribution to your otherwise **boring** plan”._

_“Explain?” Harvey sighed._

_Joker straightened his back, his grin never leaving his face, as he counted with his fingers. “The tiny Robin is his instinct. The Red Bird, the mind. The Boy Wonder is his spirit”. He opened his hands wide, a look of triumph on his face. “Guess what place remains unclaimed”._

_“What about Catwoman?” he asked skeptically._

_“Ah, Selina is not his heart; she’s the other half of his. The first thing he lost”._

_Hugo felt honestly impressed. Harvey was too, despite his determination not to let it show. It was truly thrilling how clearly a psychopath’s mind could work… at times._

_“We took away **Half his Soul** ” Joker went on. “And, oh my, what a shock it must have been for him. Great shock indeed… but nothing he wouldn’t overcome in a while, if we didn’t act fast. Alas, luck helped us a lot; the tiny bird broke away from the nest, and our Batsy lost his **Instinct** with him. Half of himself now, and disoriented… the very next step should have been exactly the one we took. The heart, good people. Go for the **Heart**. After the heart is gone, everything else will easily crumble to nothing. I’m pretty damn sure **Mind** will follow shortly -by himself, we won’t even need to try and do anything about it. And then, it’ll be just him, and his **Spirit** -his eldest. And, of what I’m hearing, our dearest Bane intends to unleash a certain **KG-Beast** on the cause”._

_He stopped talking for a moment, realizing that both of his interlocutors were currently processing this, and then shook his head. “You’re old in this, guys. As old as I am. We’ve known him so much longer than the others. Do you remember how he was back then? When I took away his precious baby bird and crushed everything inside him -inside both of them? Do you think this ever left him? That he’d ever be able to leave this behind?”_

_He started laughing on his own, for several, unsettling seconds. “I used his boy to shatter his world, and he has never been able to forget that”, he went on. “I think he had linked him to that feeling. When Hoodsey first came back from the dead, man, I was pissed,_ _he ruined it all, before I realized… it actually made everything a whole lot more interesting”._

_“How so?” Dent asked, eyebrows knitted._

_“Because, dear Harvey, after what happened… every single time he even remotely feels he’s losing him,_ _his world crushes down”._

_Hugo thought about the video. About the toxin. About the battle that could have been taking place at that very same moment, as they talked this through. About how the Bat was about to lose the same boy, again… and this time, by his own hands._

_He thought about what **this** would do to him._

_He was right. Joker was right._

_“Batsy might have a soft spot for the Wonder Boy, yes. Charismatic and cheerful children always draw more attention on them, aren’t they? But… if you **truly** wanna break his heart… you aim for his Little Bird, gentlemen. Aaaaaaaalways the Little Bird”._

_The “Little Bird”, could have been dead by now, by his own mentor’s hands._ _However… if, by any chance, he survived Batman that night… **that** would once more prove the tremendous amount of strength Red Hood carried inside him._

_It was something that could be proved… quite useful to him._

_“How much pain can he handle?”_

_Joker raised an eyebrow, momentarily unfocused. “…‘xcuse?”_

_“The boy. How much pain do you think he can handle? Physically”._

_He could swear Joker’s grin literally reached to the tips of his ears. “I like the way you’re thinking, Hugo. I like it very much”._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Made it through this? Nice! Remember people, what Alfred said: _Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale._ Thaaaaat's it! XD
> 
> A twist is always a tricky thing; you can't know how everyone's going to react to that. You see, I have mentioned again that what Bruce did to Jason in #25 never felt like something he would normally do to one of his children. Not while being himself. So, I thought... what if he actually _wasn't_ quite himself that night? Attaching it to the current Bane plot was fun as well, I won't lie.
> 
> I'm a fan of that version of Bruce that sincerely loves his children dearly. Not of the maniac that beats them bloody and senseless in rooftops and not only never apologizes, but also never shows any signs of remorse and regret afterwards. The Bruce I'm writing about would be resenting and loathing himself for what he did to his child, for abusing him, even if he was drugged and manipulated into it.
> 
> Also, I'm not just throwing this cliffhanger there. I have decided that this story will be the first part of a series. :) The next work(s) I'll be posting will be a continuation of this one. But I'm warning: some of those ones will be... particulary rough.
> 
> I want to thank each and every one of you for commenting, bookmarking, leaving Kudos, or simply reading! I sincerely hope you've enjoyed! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading! Any comments are welcome! I'd love to know your opinions!
> 
>  
> 
> My Tumblr: [Lady Paper Writerson's](https://ladypaperwriterson.tumblr.com/)


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